


Meet you on the rooftop

by jonny_vrm (elmo_loves_me)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-01
Updated: 2008-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmo_loves_me/pseuds/jonny_vrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ackles, twenty-three, is not a college student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet you on the rooftop

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer Love Song challenge over at j2au. My prompt was the song Summer In the City by the Lovin' Spoonful, which immediately inspired me to make Jensen a dirty, sweaty, sexy boy. Hence, this fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

_I don't want to hold back  
I don't want to slip down  
I don't want to think back to the one thing that I know I  
Should have done_

I don't want to doubt you  
Know everything about you  
I don't want to sit across the table from you  
Wishing I could run  
Cake – _Love You Madly_

Jensen Ackles, twenty-three, is not a college student. Jensen Ackles, twenty-three, has never been a college student. In fact, Jensen Ackles, twenty-three, will probably never be a goddamn college student. Ever. Jensen moodily punches his pillow before flopping onto his back. He's stuck college logos to the ceiling like other guys his age tape up pinups – Marquette University, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, University of Madison Wisconsin, Cardinal Stritch University, Milwaukee School of Engineering. Name any Midwestern university, and he probably has it up there somewhere, looking down on him like impossible constellations in his ruin of a life. He sits up abruptly, scrubs his hands over his face and sighs. It does him no good to lie here, thinking like this. Swinging his feet out of bed, Jensen yanks on a droopy pair of boxer shorts and heads to the kitchen of the small house he shares with Chris, his best friend.

Cedarburg isn't a bad place to live, in the grand scheme of things, Jensen muses. They're more out in the sticks than in the actual town of Cedarburg, but hell, Cedarburg _is_ the sticks. Doesn't take much to get there in Wisconsin. Not much of a change from Texas, other than the fact that there're actual forests here, not just range land as far as the eye can see. Jensen turns on the coffeemaker, leaning his hips against the low counter and staring out the window at Chris' rickety old '87 Ford. Jensen remembers the day Chris bought that truck, drove it into their tiny garage like a Lexus when all Jensen saw was a raggedy blue junker badly in need of new tires and a paint job.

"This is it, Jenny," Chris'd said, "This is what we need to get this show on the road. Lawn and garden care by day, tour van by night. Whaddya say?"

Jensen, who'd been eighteen and fresh out of high school, trying to make it on his own with his best friend by his side, had sighed. "Only until I get enough money together for college, okay? That's all I can promise you, you know that."

"Sure thing, Jensen," Chris had nodded his head, clapped Jensen on the shoulder, and then they'd both turned and looked at the truck like the new beginning it was.

Four years, innumerable failed scholarship applications, three apartments and one house later, they've still got the truck, Jensen's twenty-three and counting, and Chris carefully avoids all talk of college educations. The truck looks great though – Chris worked on that thing until it ran like new, gave it a shiny new coat of paint, a new windshield, polished up the chrome, and carefully stenciled their logo on each door: "Yardvark Lawn &amp; Garden: We get it done," circled around a picture of a smiling aardvark giving a cheery thumbs-up. Chris' idea.

Lawn equipment sticks out of the truck bed, rake handles and lawn mower grips bristling up like angry porcupine quills. The flatbed trailer's covered with a tarp, but Jensen can mentally picture every piece of machinery on that damn thing: their riding mower, their leaf blowers, their wood chipper, their weed whackers. Countless other bits and pieces that break and need replacing and are irreplaceable all at once because it's the only way he and Chris have made their living since they graduated high school. Constant drain on the money Jensen has been trying to build up for so long.

He remembers the scholarship he won last year – $1,000 check mailed right to his door, no strings attached, and how he'd thought, finally, a toe-hold, something to grow on – but then the trailer jack had broken and, well, the mower had needed new blades and there was a newer, more practical version of their weed whacker coming on the market, and all of this needed _money_, funds they didn't have except for Jensen's brand-spanking-new, no-strings-attached, foot-in-the-door check. Chris hadn't asked but Jensen knew: if they lost their business, $1,000 wouldn't matter because $1,000 without making _more_ was nothing but a drop in the bucket. So that was that. Money spent, money earned, and Jensen didn't let Chris see how angry he was becoming, how hopeless he felt sometimes when he looked up at his ceiling at night – Madison, Lacrosse, Chicago, Ann Harbor – and tried to resign himself to going the rest of his life as a high school grad.

The coffee maker blips and Jensen turns, yanks the pot out of its seat and pours himself a scalding cup. No good thinking about it when it only adds to his helpless resentment of the situation, his job, his friends. Chris is content and who is Jensen to ruin that? The man lives for the gigs he plays in the seedy dive bars across the Kettle Moraine countryside, Jensen thinks bitterly, and if he has to support himself by cutting lawns during the day, so long as he gets to do what he loves at night, it's all good.

"Hey, Jenny, watcha doin'?" Chris yawns, suddenly standing right next to Jensen. Jensen jumps guiltily.

"Sorry. Couldn't sleep, came out here to think."

Chris grins sleepily, scratches his ass, "Could hurt yourself that way. Time is it?"

"3:15 or so. You should go back to bed, we got a shitload of lawns tomorrow."

Chris nods, sways groggily on his feet. He puts a hand on Jensen's shoulder. "You okay?"

Jensen looks into his mug, stares at his ghostly, moonlit reflection in the jet black liquid. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, Chris."

Chris nods and disappears back down the hallway that leads to their rooms. Jensen dumps his coffee down the drain and goes to sit on the front porch.

:::

Jensen tries to ignore the way Big Blue, Chris' truck, rattles around them but it's damned hard to do. The old girl's got some years behind her, and though yeah, Jensen's willing to admit the bench seat is pretty cool and he likes the big ass tires, she hasn't passed the emissions test since they bought her and she vibrates like a death trap when they push her up over sixty-five. Chris wouldn't think of leaving her behind.

"So, who's first on the agenda today, Jenny?" Chris says, briskly drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and distracting Jensen from the white-knuckle grip he's got on the door handle. He can't see the speedometer, but Chris has got to be skirting seventy-five MPH.

"Don't call me that," Jensen grimaces, lifting his butt up from the front seat of the truck and digging around in his back pocket for their list. Chris grins.

"Then you gotta stop lookin' so pretty, Jen. Gives a guy ideas."

Jensen rolls his eyes, "Yeah, sure. I'll keep that in mind next time I'm puttin' on my makeup. Eyes on the road, asshole."

Chris casually flips Jensen off, then cranks the radio up and starts singing along to a Kenny Chesney tune.

Jensen shakes his head, looking down at the list, "Mrs. Castelli needs her lawn cut and edged today, and she wants us to rake up the clippings because she's got a garden party tomorrow; Mr. Bretl want us to lay some mulch down around his back garden, and he asked us if we could take a look at some plants he wants to put in and tell us where we think is best; Mrs. King wants her bush done–"

"I'll bet she does, you dirty dog," Chris cuts in. Jensen cheerfully punches his shoulder.

"And, uh, that new family Mrs. Knapp introduced us to? The Padaleckis? They want us to come around and do a full lawn treatment, standard, with some precision edging around the daffodils. Her words, not mine."

Chris nods understandingly, "Of course. Who do you wanna do first? We're closest to Mrs. C, but Mrs. K is probably the easiest."

"So let's start with Castelli and finish with King. D'you wanna hit up the Padalecki's early on? Just to get used to the lay of the land and so on?"

"Sure," Chris signals a lane change, "I hear they live on the East Side. Nice neighborhood, that."

Jensen shrugs. They've expanded their business from Cedarburg and the surrounding area to include Milwaukee and its suburbs. It's only a twenty minute drive in from the 'Burg and the pay level in the wealthy suburbs clustered around the city takes a nice leap upwards that they both appreciate. More rich people with less time to take care of their expansive lawns, Jensen surmises, and hangs on as Chris hooks a right onto their exit ramp.

Mrs. Castelli comes out to greet them, apron flapping in the wind and a plate of piping hot cookies in her hands. Chris winks at Jensen, swinging out of the truck with a playful, "Mrs. C! Cookies? You shouldn't have."

Jensen shakes his head as Mrs. Castelli blushes a pretty pink; the woman's got a crush on Chris that they both find endlessly amusing.

"Well, I know you boys work hard and I just wanted to bring a little something out. It's no trouble." Mrs. Castelli offers the plate to Chris, smiling. Jensen rolls his eyes and goes around the back of the truck to unload their riding lawn mower from the trailer. Mrs. Castelli may be nice, but she's got one hell of a yard and they need to get started if they want to finish by a decent time. Chris joins him after a moment, and Jensen spots Mrs. Castelli's purple-clad bottom going back inside.

"Have fun?" Jensen asks. Chris hands him a cookie.

"Shut up. You know that old broad makes the best chocolate-chip in town."

Jensen laughs. He can't deny it. He takes a bite and the warm cookie melts in his mouth, the chocolate rolling across his tongue in a way that's totally orgasmic.

"I'll leave you two alone," Chris snorts, hefting their smaller mower out of the truck bed and heading off to start carefully trimming around the flower beds.

:::

The Padaleckis are their third stop of the day, right after lunch, and by now Jensen and Chris are both sweaty messes. Chris rolls Big Blue to a halt, and Jensen tosses him a Wet-Wipe.

"Clean up. We gotta make a good impression the first time so we can look like shit the rest of the time."

Chris obligingly mops his face, tossing the used wipe at Jensen. Jensen grimaces and lets it slide to the floor, unwraps a wipe of his own and carefully cleans his own face, swiping at the sweat beading at his hairline.

"Hot as blazes out," Chris remarks, popping the door of the truck open and sliding onto the sidewalk. Jensen follows, inspects the sweat stains under the armholes of his sleeveless T-shirt and sighs. Not much he can do about that. He attempts to swab the grass stains off of his hands, then picks half-heartedly at the knees of his jeans. He figures the Padaleckis will know a working man when they see one, anyway.

"All finished, princess?" Chris smirks. He's unapologetically grungy, dirt streaked up his forearms and a sweat soaked bandana tied haphazardly around his forehead. Jensen can smell him from here, all grass and man and sunshine.

"Maybe I should go up and introduce us. They might run screaming if they get a whiff of you."

"Right. Like you smell any better? Oh wait, I forgot, you're the cute one." Chris grins, "Makes up for so many of your sins."

"Fuck you," Jensen says good-naturedly, turning and walking across the Padalecki lawn, taking the front stairs two at a time and ringing the doorbell before he can think twice about it. He always gets nervous when meeting new clients. It's a combination of the fact that he probably _does_ look like he got run over by a weed whacker, and this uneasy drift of inadequacy that builds up in his chest every time he runs across a business professional. They're living the life he wants, and he always feels like he's got "college fuck up" stamped on his forehead, there for all to see.

The door opens, interrupting Jensen's musings, and he looks up. And then up again.

"Um, hi," the guy says.

Jensen blinks. "Is this the Padalecki residence?"

"Yeah. I'm Jared, nice to meet you." The guy sticks out his hand and Jensen automatically responds, reaching for a shake and calmly cataloging the broad palm pressed against his own. "Are you one of Jeff's friends? 'Cause he's not here right now, and–"

"No, I'm Jensen Ackles. With Yardvark." Jared looks blank. "Lawn care? We, uh, Mrs. Padalecki wanted us to come by today?"

"Oh, right! Come in!" Jared steps back, swinging his arm out and back in a welcoming gesture. Jared's not wearing a shirt. Jensen valiantly ignores the way Jared's chest flexes.

"Mr. Padalecki–"

"Jared," Jared corrects, his lips quirking into a half smile. God help me, Jensen thinks, he has dimples.

"Jared. Uh, I'd rather just get started, now that we've met. If you could point me to anything you want done specifically with your lawn, or perhaps your wife could help?" It hurts Jensen to say it, but he manages to keep his voice mostly level.

Jared's face flattens into an expression of comic surprise. "My wife?"

"Mrs. Padalecki."

"Dude! I'm in college. You'll be wanting my mom." Jared laughs, letting the screen door drift shut as he turns. "I'll be right back."

Sherri Padalecki is a tiny, energetic woman with the hair around her ears just beginning to turn grey. She greets Jensen with a strong handshake, surprisingly like her son's, and launches into a knowledgeable dialogue about lawn fertilizer. Jensen concentrates on his replies, trying to ignore Jared – now wearing a bright yellow UWM T-shirt – hovering in the background.

Chris chooses the moment Mrs. Padalecki – "Call me Sherri, hon," – is winding down to appear, wiping his hands on his thighs before greeting Mrs. Padalecki and Jared.

"Howdy. I'm Chris Kane, Jensen's partner in crime." He winks at Mrs. Padalecki, who flushes. Jensen sighs internally. Some things never change. He sneaks a glance at Jared and looks away quickly when he sees that Jared is studying him in return. Fighting his own blush, Jensen focuses on Mrs. Padalecki, who's giving Chris a more detailed list of what she'd like them to do around the yard.

Chris nods along gravely, launching into his "acceptance speech," as he likes to call it, as soon as Mrs. Padalecki finishes. "I can assure you, ma'am, that Jensen and I will do our very best. You don't need to worry about your mums – Jensen's got the magic touch when it comes to flowers," Chris smiles toothily, Jensen tries not to die of embarrassment, "and I'll make sure to update you on our progress when we've finished so you can decide whether you want to continue using our services for your lawn."

Mrs. Padalecki looks enamored; Jensen furtively glances at Jared again. He looks amused, arms crossed over his chest and God, Jensen wants to sink to his knees and–

"Ready, Jen?"

Jensen blinks, drags his focus back to Chris and nods. He fights the urge to run away, attempting to follow Chris calmly, but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't walk faster than usual to start unloading Big Blue.

:::

Jensen's on his hands and knees carefully uprooting some dandelions in a shady corner of the Padalecki's lawn when Chris comes over and pokes a toe into his side.

"What the crap!" Jensen exclaims.

"So. Jared." Chris says, his voice deceptively innocent. "Easy on the eyes."

Jensen avoids meeting Chris' gaze. Chris has known Jensen was gay since they first became friends, Jensen the skinny sophomore in glasses and Chris the guy everyone liked. Chris approached Jensen one day and said, "Hey, you play?" pointing to the guitar calluses on Jensen's right hand, and that was that. Chris lost a few friends over Jensen, and when Jensen asked why he didn't mind, Chris smirked and said, "I need an actual gay friend for when I say, 'I have gay friends.'" They've basically lived in each other's pockets since, and Chris knows Jensen well enough by now to pick up on when he's interested in someone.

"Maybe." Jensen evades, "I was concentrating on the lawn."

"Sure you were."

"And anyway, it would be completely unprofessional to date a client, _if_ I were even interested."

"Jenny, since when have we been concerned about being 'professional?'" Chris says, curling his fingers into air quotes.

"You mean since when have _you_ been concerned," Jensen grumbles, sitting back on his haunches and removing his gloves. "Look, it's not going to happen, all right? Kid's home from college, probably visiting some bouncy little girlfriend, sleepin' all day and workin' nights at the movie theater. The picture of disinterest."

"So you would make a pass."

"That's not what I said!"

"That's not what I'm hearing."

"Client!" Jensen repeats, clinging to the one thing that's keeping him from allowing his brain to admit that Jared is one hot motherfucker.

"Actually, his mom's the client. Jared's a free agent, Jensen," Chris persists.

"Christ," Jensen groans, rolling to his feet and loping over to the riding mower, sitting down and revving the engine before Chris can continue his campaign to get Jensen _fired_. Chris follows along stubbornly, moving to stand in front of the mower.

"You wanna lose a toe?" Jensen yells menacingly over the growl of the engine.

"You wanna get between Jared and his Calvins?" Chris yells right back.

"Kane!" Jensen practically shrieks, eyes darting towards the house. He can spot at least three open windows and who the fuck knows if someone's listening. Jensen cranks the key again and the mower subsides into silence once more. "You better shut the fuck up if you know what's good for you," Jensen hisses.

"Jen," Chris says, his face softening, "Man, I just want you to have a little fun, you know? All you ever do is troll the internet, and I know you're not looking at porn."

Jensen squirms. His favorites list is full of academic websites, and if Chris ever bothered to check the history on their computer, he'd find a laundry list of scholarship search engines. Jensen yanks his bandanna out of his pocket, wiping his face slowly and using it to hide his expression. He knows Chris means well, but Jensen can't be coming here and weeding the tulip patch and thinking about Jared naked or he's going to slip up one day and then their reputation will go down the tubes.

"At least come out with me some night, if you're gonna be a dumbass about Jared," Chris coaxes, "You know me an' the boys'd show you a good time, and you haven't listened to me play a concert in for-fucking-ever."

Jensen ties his bandanna around his neck, cowboy style, refusing to meet Chris' eyes. This is the way out: if he agrees, Chris will leave him alone. If he agrees, he'll have to actually socialize and pretend to have a good time, maybe pick someone up for a one-nighter, just to get Chris off his back for another month or two while he returns to contemplating night courses and tutors online until the wee hours of the morning. Jensen sighs.

"Fine."

Chris whoops, pumping a fist into the air. Jensen's eyes flick to the house and he swears he sees a flutter of bright yellow in an upstairs window. He feels dull heat start to work its way up his neck and he quickly focuses back on Chris. "But if I go you can't be pushing guys at me dicks first, understand? This time has to be on my own terms."

"Sure, whatever you say," Chris says, throwing his arms out in an expansive gesture. He grins mysteriously, "At last, the Great Ackles returns to the field. Wait'll I tell Steve."

Jensen cranks the mower again, waving Chris away as the motor's vibration permeates his body. Chris winks and lopes off towards the far side of the lawn. Jensen turns his mind to the task at hand, letting the juicy smell of freshly cut grass fill his nostrils, studiously ignoring the Padalecki house looming at the corner of his vision.

When he comes around the side of the house, attention divided between not eviscerating the delicate border of pansies pushed up against the house on one side and not destroying the mower blade on the concrete path on the other, he sees Chris talking animatedly with Jared, both of them leaning up against Big Blue. Jared laughs, teeth flashing white, and smacks a palm to his forehead as Chris guffaws in that way he has when he's just said something stupid that he thinks is hilarious. Jensen nearly takes out a delicate purple and yellow pansy specimen, swerving at the last minute and leaving a crooked line in the cut grass behind him.

Chris looks up as he hears Jensen's mower getting closer, waving cheerily. Jared twists at the waist as well, looking at Jensen from under his bangs. He smiles. Jensen wants to kill Chris. He reaches the edge of the lawn and deftly turns the mower to go back for another pass, pretending not to notice either of them.

He misses Chris handing Jared a bright blue flyer, hand landing companionably on his shoulder. Chris' lips form the words, "you should come," barely audible over the roar of the mower. Jared nods, darting a glance at Jensen's retreating form before nodding again. Jensen disappears around the side of the house, T-shirt stretched tight across his back, oblivious.

:::

Jensen's been staring at his knees for the past hour and a half. It's not that he finds them particularly fascinating. He's wearing a new pair of jeans, but that just means that they're stretched crisply over the bony joint – no faded spots, no threadbare holes – and give him nothing to look at. In point of fact, looking at his knees is turning out to be devastatingly boring. Unfortunately, it's a much better alternative to having to stare at Jared fucking Padalecki, who's been dancing with some tiny brunette for the past hour and twenty five minutes.

Jensen _had_ been having a good time. Chris' band, Kane, was playing at a straight bar that night –which wasn't unusual – and Chris had ditched him almost as soon as they'd ambled through the door – also not unusual – mumbling something about helping Steve, his rhythm guitarist, set up. Jensen was perfectly content to wander over to the bar and nurse a bottle of Corona plus lime while he waited for the performance. Being at a straight bar offered the opportunity to relax, and though he'd promised Chris he'd pick someone up tonight, he could just as easily claim he couldn't find anyone who hung from the same tree, so to speak, and avoid Chris' awkward attempts to hook him up with someone Chris had decided was "pretty enough to be gay" but who probably wasn't.

Steve had strolled by maybe twenty minutes later, saying something about "tuning up the didgeridoo" and patting Jensen on the back with a lewd wink that made Jensen think Steve wasn't really talking about a didgeridoo at all. Jensen'd laughed, opening his mouth to deliver his own probably awesome comeback, when Jared had walked in, practically ducking to get through the door, and dragged his tiny, brunette date in after him. Steve said something else before he left. Jensen must have responded satisfactorily, though he doesn't know what the fuck he said, but then Jared threw back the shot he'd ordered, pulled brunette-and-tiny onto the dance floor by the hips, and Jensen's gaze dropped to his knees.

For the next hour and a half.

Sucks to be Jensen.

"Jenny!" Chris yells drunkenly in Jensen's ear. Jensen chances a glance sideways. He's surprised Chris doesn't develop some fatal disease on the spot from his glare. Chris smacks Jensen on the back hard enough that he flinches.

"Chris." Jensen says flatly, barely audible over the bar noise. Then, "Did you do this?"

Chris' face folds into an expression of innocence.

"Whatever do you mean, Jen m'boy?" Chris asks, placing a palm sloppily over his heart. His mouth curls down at the corners, the picture of mock hurt.

Jensen flails a palm in the general direction of Jared Padalecki who, goddammit, sweats like a porn star, curling his hair delicately around his ears and putting a delicious flush on the rise of his cheeks.

"I'm assuming you're to blame for this, you asshole."

Chris turns clumsily, squinting in Jared's direction. Jared's hands are riding low on brunette-and-tiny's back. They look totally wrapped up in each other. Jensen takes a bitter swig of his drink.

"Hey, he came!" Chris says, and wades over to Jared. Jensen barely refrains from throwing his arms up in exasperation, spinning on his stool until he's staring mulishly at the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar. He can't fucking believe Chris did this. Jensen said no, and no is no! Jared is strictly off limits, and if Chris thinks Jensen is going to try and pick anyone _else_ up while Jared's in the same room, then Chris is sorely mistaken. If that weren't enough, Jared came with a date, effectively stopping Jensen from having so much as one measly gay fantasy about Jared's probably magnificent dick. Jensen is decidedly, without a doubt, most definitely going home alone tonight. He irritably raises his beer.

"Hey."

Jensen freezes, bottle halfway to his lips.

"Um. It's Jensen, right?"

The bar stool seems to rotate of its own accord, and suddenly Jensen's looking up at one Jared Padalecki. Jensen closes his mouth, opens it again. Jared's dimples are rapidly deepening, his smile becoming undeniable.

"I – Yes," Jensen says. God, Jared's close enough to smell how much Jensen's perspiring and Jensen _knows_ he's blushing and his face is shining unattractively and his heart's beating so fast it's going to explode–

"Mind if I sit down?" Jared gestures at the empty stool next to Jensen. Jensen has enough presence of mind to shake his head, trying not to fall over from shock. Jared's shoulders have got to be a _mile_ wide, and he's wearing this soft, gray V-neck that's clinging to his chest like poetry. Jensen tears his eyes away from Jared's (erect!) nipples and stares fixedly at his rapidly emptying Corona.

"I just thought I'd stop by and say hi. The lawn looks great, by the way." Jared says easily. Jensen nods jerkily and starts scanning the crowd for Chris, praying for him to break in and alleviate the situation before Jensen makes a total ass of himself. He spots Chris talking to brunette-and-tiny, one hand on her shoulder as he gestures to the stage, probably waxing poetic about how awesome the band is.

"So, Kane any good?"

Jensen's head swings in Jared's direction. "Huh?"

"Kane. His band. Any good?" Jared repeats. His eyes are _twinkling_. Jensen didn't even think that was possible outside of Disney movies.

"They're. Okay." Jensen manages. He coughs. Jared's still grinning, blinding Jensen with his abnormally white teeth. Jensen wishes for what must be the millionth time that he wasn't so obviously uncomfortable around new people. Hell, around people in general. It took him three years to really warm up to Chris, even though they hung out together all the time. He starts peeling the label off his beer bottle, working a thumbnail under a loose edge.

"See now," Jared continues doggedly, and Jensen is ruefully admiring. Any normal person would have run by now. Jared is obviously not normal. "Chris said you had a hard time meeting people. That true?"

Jensen immediately chokes on a gob of spit. Jared pounds Jensen on the back until he stops coughing, and then says lightly, "I can see he was lying."

"Chris _told_ you that? I'm gonna wring that little fucker's neck."

Jensen mostly mumbles the second part, not intending Jared to hear. Jared's eyes widen before he bursts out laughing. It's a huge laugh, oddly high, tripping out of Jared like a sunbeam.

"Now don't do that. I'm sure he was only trying to help you out, maybe discourage me from coming over here." Jared leans an elbow back on the bar, tipping his head to meet Jensen's eyes, "But hell, I just had to meet the guy who made my momma's petunias look so goddamn pretty."

There's a moment of silence where they stare at each other. Jensen's sure he must have the stupidest look of astonishment on his face while Jared continues to appear cool as a cucumber, one corner of his mouth tugged up and wrinkling the skin under his eye. Then Jensen bursts out laughing, because he's been a complete, anti-social idiot and this guy is _still_ talking to him and this might just be simultaneously the worst and greatest night of his life.

"What can I say. If you sing to 'em real sweet, they'll do just about anything you want." He shakes his head ruefully.

Then Jared says, "So I hear you're _not_ a Packers fan? In this state? That'll get you killed, boy," and suddenly they're off, shooting the shit like they've known each other since the cradle. Jensen's never had this happen to him before in his entire miserable life, and not even Jared's tiny girlfriend, Sandy, coming by an hour later and tugging Jared back onto the dance floor can kill Jensen's feeling of amazement.

Chris comes over after a while – to gloat, no doubt – and Jensen's still riding too high to even flick him off or spit in his eye or something else equally vindictive that Chris definitely deserves.

"So, I'm assuming that went well," Chris says.

"Not that I'd want it to," Jensen responds automatically, because _client_, but then Jared waves at Jensen over Sandy's shoulder and winks, and Jensen just about cries from the beauty.

"You're so fuckin' gay sometimes, man," Chris chortles, and weaves away with a trailed, "When I get back you'll have to tell me all about the china patterns you're planning for your wedding."

Chris plays a good set, even while drunk, and he works the crowd into a frenzy with the expertise of long practice, Steve jamming away behind him as Chris croons into the microphone like the music's coming from the broken place in his heart. Jensen stops surreptitiously staring at Jared long enough to get caught up in the songs, singing along to the few he knows – no one can hear him over the incredible noise of the bar – and closing his eyes when Chris hits a particularly sweet chord. Jensen can tell Chris loves what he's doing up on that stage. That he loves what he's singing, and that he wants to do it over and over again: until he's sick of it, until he could find the microphone if he were blind, until he has to roll to the edge of the crowd and topple from his wheelchair just to try a stage dive.

Jensen feels a bittersweet rush of emotion: jealously, longing, contentment. He's happy for Chris. He wants the same thing. He wants so much more and yet he only wants what everyone else seems to have.

Suddenly he has to get out. He pushes his way through the crowd – faces made terrible in the dim light, mouths open and screaming – until he practically tumbles out the door, arms out to catch himself. The night is cool, glacially silent after the warm press of the bar. Jensen stares at the sky for a moment – overcast, not a star in sight – before he makes his way slowly around the back of the building to the stage door. He'll be able to hear when the band stops. He'll go in and help them tear down just like he always does.

:::

Chris is excited, babbling the entire ride home and flushed by the band's success. Jensen grunts in response, cracking a smile every now and then, but his heart's not in it. He knows sooner or later Chris is going to ask him about his luck, ask him if he fucked anyone in the bathroom whose name started with 'J' and ended with 'ared' or something equally crude. Surprisingly, Chris says nothing about it, choosing instead to ramble effusively about Steve's "awesome riffs, man! Like a ninja!"

Chris says nothing while Jensen dutifully helps him store the band's gear away in their tiny spare room, truthfully more of a spare closet.

Chris says nothing while they methodically shift their lawn equipment back into the bed of Big Blue and reattach the trailer, adjusting the tarp.

Chris says nothing as they lean against the dingy kitchen counters, sucking down two glasses of water each in an effort to fight any aftereffects that might take hold in the morning.

In fact, Jensen's brushing his teeth in the bathroom long after he thinks Chris has gone to bed, not really looking at his face but aware that it's hanging in front of him in the mirror, when Chris appears behind him.

"I didn't know he had a girlfriend, Jen. That's harsh."

Jensen shrugs. It's hard to explain that Jared was actually the _highlight_ of the evening and that Jensen's worked himself into his own funk. Still, Chris is making an effort.

"Yeah," Jensen says around his toothbrush, "Can't say I didn't see it coming."

"I still think you got a chance." Chris leans a shoulder against the door frame, staring at the bottom of their bathtub intently. There's something growing down there that Jensen's been trying his hardest to ignore; their house rule is that the first one to complain is the one who has to clean it up.

Jensen refrains from saying that at this point he doesn't really _care_ if he has a chance. He just wants to _hang out_ with Jared, because Jensen has never felt so much at ease with anyone before – possibly not even his own mother – and he wants to explore that. He wants to know what it's like to make friends that quickly, to be that guy who everyone likes, because having Jared like him makes it seem possible. It makes _Jensen_ feel possible, feel powerful, feel like all he needs to do is make a choice and he'd be accepted.

"In fact," Chris continues, oblivious to Jensen's train of thought, "I'm positive the guy has to swing both ways. I'm getting these vibes off 'im, you know?"

Jensen spits and rinses out his toothbrush. "Oh, totally."

"So that means you just gotta pour on the charm and he'll be your girl," Chris finishes triumphantly.

Jensen sighs. And Chris was doing so well.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed, Chris."

"Okay," Chris squeezes Jensen's shoulder as he passes, "Just remember that I'm here for you, buddy."

Jensen waves, closes his bedroom door on Chris silhouetted in the bathroom doorway. The thing is, Chris is there. Whenever Jensen needs him.

:::

Over the next month or so they visit the Padalecki's a total of three times. Each time Jared comes out to bother Chris for a while, before he strikes up a conversation with Jensen. Jensen's still kind of in shock that Jared actually wants to talk to him, but Jared's quickly becoming one of his best friends and he can never resist taking at least an hour off to hang out.

They talk about everything and nothing, conversation ranging from the truly sucktacular Brewer's season to the likelihood of the Jonas brothers taking over the world with tightly rehearsed smiles and even tighter pants. Jared always brings food: munching on a chicken drumstick while they argue Descartes vs. Spongebob Squarepants – who's the greater philosopher? (Spongebob, of course); chewing his way through a box of Triscuits while they compare the twenty seemingly different versions of Rummy that they've collectively managed to learn; slurping down diet soda while they ponder the intelligence of giant squid, supposedly next in line for taking over the world when the human race dies out. Jensen even tells Jared about his college woes, staring off at the far edge of the Padalecki's lawn as he quietly describes his financial and academic struggles. Jared remains silent until the end, when he says, "It'll happen for you, Jen. I believe in you." Chris sticks his head in every once in a while, but mostly he just grunts and goes about his business.

Jared invites Jensen to hang out one night. He's going out to a bar later with a few of his friends, and then they're going bowling once they're comfortably drunk. Jensen hesitates before answering, wondering if this is going too far, but Jared's looking at him with such a pathetically hopeful expression that he just has to say yes.

Later that day he stumbles into the bar a little nervous, adjusting his watchband and trying not to meet anyone's eyes, but Jared's friends are all ridiculously nice and before Jensen knows it he's telling the stupidest joke he knows about Discotech robbery and everyone is falling down laughing. Jared's beaming at him and Jensen feels like he's a million feet tall, feels like he could leap over buildings, stop trains with his bare hands, walk up to the President and tell him how he really feels. Jensen feels like he could do anything.

Later that night Jared bowls a 49 to Jensen's 210, heckling Jensen the whole way and as soon as Jensen bowls his final lane, turns to Jared with his arms held out in a 'bring it' gesture, Jared is already cueing up their next game, swearing he'll beat Jensen this time.

Jensen royally wallops Jared's ass three more times before Jared admits defeat. He immediately gives Jensen a furious noogie until Jensen's red in the face from laughing so hard. Jensen goes home that night feeling satisfied with himself like he hasn't in a long time.

Jared asks Jensen to hang out more and more frequently, and each time Chris laughs and prods Jensen about his "big, gay chances," poking fun at Jared's obvious crush. Jensen always shrugs it off, rolling his eyes at Chris' insinuations, but he's wondered himself why Jared seems to spend no time at all with Sandy and every possible moment he can with Jensen. It's given him a false hope that he's trying desperately to squash, but more than once he's caught Jared staring at him, small smile on his lips, and he's felt his heart surge with anticipation.

Jensen can't really label what's happening between them. He just knows that he wants it to continue and he's doing everything in his power to make that happen. Even if he has to pretend to be just another guy, he can do that if he gets to be close to Jared.

:::

Mrs. Padalecki calls to have her lawn trimmed every two or three weeks, regular as clockwork, and this time when she does it's with a special request to lay some sod down over the dead circle of dirt where she just had the backyard pool removed. Chris takes the call, writing it on their schedule in bright green ink. Jensen doesn't notice until about three hours later when he comes in from the backyard where he's been sharpening all their blades. For once, Chris doesn't push him, and fills Jensen in on only the basics.

"They'll pay for the sod and the labor. Mrs. P gave me the measurements of the dirt circle, so I figure we'll swing by Menard's beforehand and pick up enough, yeah?"

Jensen nods. "How much do you think we'll have to clear out of the truck? Or can we just put everything we need on the trailer and use the truck bed exclusively for the sod?"

"I like the way you think, Jenny," Chris says, and Jensen promptly punches him in the chest, laughing. They tussle for a few minutes and Jensen forgets all about the Padaleckis until they're pulling into the Menard's parking lot. He makes it through the sod purchase with minimum fuss, pulls his weight with the loading of the truck, and manages to sit without fidgeting on the way over, but as they're pulling up in front of the Padalecki's house, Chris turns to him.

"You gonna be all right?"

"Yeah, why?" Jensen answers, much too fast. He's drumming his fingers on his knee, his bandanna tied into a cuff around his wrist. Though he's seen Jared dozens of times he always gets nervous.

"No reason, genius," Chris snorts, yanking Big Blue into park. The engine rumbles to a halt and Chris pockets the keys. "Seriously, Jensen," Chris says, and then he's gone, swinging out the door. Jensen takes one more deep breath before jumping to the street on his side and heading back to help Chris.

They've worked out a system with all of their customers that allows them to come by whenever they like, even when the customer's not at home. It's not like they're a cleaning service; they won't be going in the house, anyway. This means that more often than not when Jensen and Chris stop by they've got the place to themselves. Accordingly, the windows and doors of the Padalecki house remain stubbornly closed as they unload, and Chris shrugs. It's always possible no one's there. Jensen can't decide if the twist in his stomach is disappointment or relief.

They start by cutting the grass, Jensen taking the smaller hand mower to the front lawn while Chris toodles around on the riding mower trimming the larger back lawn. Jensen keeps one eye on the house, no matter how hard he tries to deny it, but he sees no movement. Chris doesn't either, as he informs Jensen when they meet up again by Big Blue.

"I didn't ask!" Jensen snaps.

"Neither did I!" Chris snaps right back.

"What?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Chris says, and whisks the tarp over the riding mower. Jensen tries not to appear as confused as he feels, moving to jostle the hand mower onto the trailer.

"You're an asshole, you know."

"I'm gonna have to discourage any inter-office romance, Jen. All this sweet talk could go to a man's head," Chris says, sticking his tongue between his teeth in a teasing grin. Jensen throws up his hands and goes for the sod.

They're midway through filling in the dead zone in the Padalecki's backyard when Chris straightens up, glances at the sun and says, "I'm takin' a lunch break. You can keep on if you want, or come keep me company."

"I'll keep going, thanks," Jensen retorts. He's not really hungry yet, and Chris kept up a constant stream of chatter the entire time. It'll be nice to have some quiet.

Chris nods. "Suit yourself." He ambles around the side of the house and out of view.

Jensen works at unrolling the next piece of sod, cutting it to size with his knife. The sun is beating down on his neck from directly above, and he can feel the sweat rolling down his temples, soaking the collar of his shirt and making his neck feel slippery-warm to the touch. There's another patch of perspiration sticking his shirt to his lower back, and he can feel more sweat winding its way down his torso, slicking across his abdomen. His forearms are shiny, glinting with moisture, and the insides of his gloves feel uncomfortably muggy. He wipes his forehead with his wrist bandana and then realizes that he's probably just rubbed yet another stripe of dirt across his face. Shit.

Jensen sneaks another look at the house. Nothing has changed since they got here, and no one's come home at any time so the probability that no one _is_ home is very high. The blank windows stare impassively back. Jensen can feel a breeze picking fitfully at his T-shirt, but it's not quite having the effect he would like. He feels like he's suffocating, the cotton pasted to his body in salty, smelly patches, and he wants it off. He makes a decision.

Thing is, Chris is the one with the exhibitionist streak. He'll whip his shirt off in an October deluge, mid-rake, with somebody's ninety year old grandmother praying the rosary in plain view. Jensen almost never does, preferring to keep his dignity and his sun block close, but Jesus Christ. He's got grass up one side and down the other, it's one-hundred degrees out, and no one's there to see him, anyway. If he hears a car in the driveway he can pull it on again, but right now all he wants is to feel the wind against his bare skin as he works his hands into the Earth. The shirt comes off.

More accurately, the shirt _peels_ off, and Jensen grimaces as he tosses it over by the pile of unused sod. He's worked for about twenty more minutes, several degrees cooler and blissful, when someone suddenly says, "Want some Jell-O?"

Jensen lets out a thin shriek and jumps into the air, twisting and coming down in a crouch, hands up in a Bruce Lee-style karate pose. Jared's standing there in a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top. He's looking at Jensen with both eyebrows raised, an expression of absolute surprise on his face and one huge paw cupping a bowl of Jell-O.

Jensen stares at him, eyes bulging.

Jared obligingly wiggles the Jell-O, which Jensen notices is a truly disturbing non-color of black-purple-blue-ish.

"What the fuck?" Jensen manages to get out. He feels like he just had a friggin' cardiac arrest.

"I'm just going to eat it if you're not," Jared says, holding up a spoon, "but I thought you might like some."

Jensen looks again at the Jell-O. It appears to be made of pure evil.

"Is that even a flavor?"

A puzzled expression comes over Jared's face. He lifts the Jell-O to his nose, examining it. "Yes. It's… lime-cherry-grape-blueberry."

"What the fuck?" Jensen says again. He's started to come out of his crouch now that he feels like he's not about to be attacked at any second with Darth Jell-O.

"Oh, we like to mix the powders," Jared says nonchalantly. He wiggles the bowl in Jensen's direction once more. The Jell-O glares ominously at Jensen. Jensen eyes it dubiously.

"I think I'll pass. Um, I don't actually like Jell-O," Which is true. Jensen had braces when he was a kid and for a while all he could eat was pudding and Jell-O. He still kind of likes pudding, but he could never really stomach Jell-O ever again.

Jared purses his lips thoughtfully. "According to my religion, that means I can't be friends with you anymore."

Jensen's shocked into a laugh. Jared grins and stabs the spoon into the Jell-O, which quivers through its death throes as Jared pops a chunk cheerfully into his mouth.

"So tell me, Jensen," Jared goes on, "What _do_ you like?" and it's at that second that Jensen realizes he's hard as a fucking rock and standing shirtless in Jared Padalecki's backyard. In front of said Padalecki. Who's sucking on a spoon and asking Jensen what he likes in a voice blurred by summer heat. Also, said Padalecki is currently not looking Jensen in the eye. He's not even looking at Jensen's face. He's looking down at Jensen's stomach – maybe at where Jensen can feel the sweat tracking through the thin trail of hair on his belly – leading to the point where Jensen's khaki shorts sag low, the button pulled loose by the years and revealing a vulnerable patch of skin, pale in the shadow of Jensen's body.

Jared licks slowly over the spoon. Jensen feels himself go cold, then hot.

"Hey, Jared!"

Chris. Returning from lunch. Jensen tries to break out of the paralysis of Jared's stare and finds that he can't, not until Jared pulls the spoon from between his lips with a soft, wet sound and quirks one side of his mouth up into a smile.

"Chris, my man," Jared says, reaching to shake hands roughly before slapping Chris' bicep. "Didn't know you guys'd be here today."

"Oh yeah? Well, your mom set up the appointment. Guess she doesn't tell her baby boy everything, huh." Chris says, crossing his arms over his chest and casting a curious eye at Jensen. Jensen's turned away and is heading for his shirt. When he picks it up it's marginally better than before, the sun having dried some of the sweat, but it still reeks and sticks awkwardly as he tries to pull it down quickly to cover himself. When he turns around Jared's watching him with hooded eyes.

"Guess not," Jared says.

"How come you didn't come out and say hey?" Chris asks. "We been here for hours, man."

"I was napping, sorry. You guys woke me up." Jared says and winks.

Chris grunts, "Late night last night, Padalecki? That little woman of yours too much to handle? 'Cause you know I could take her off your hands for you."

"No sir," Jared shoots back, "Just sleepin' off the work out I was givin' your old lady. Seems like she hadn't seen a cock in months."

Chris practically roars with laughter. "I'm gonna take my lunch break now," Jensen says quietly, and makes a beeline for the front of the house. He risks one look back but Jared's attention is totally focused on Chris as they continue insulting each other.

Jensen reaches Big Blue and immediately digs the cooler out from its place snug against the cab, nestled in the truck bed. He grumbles to himself about Chris and timing and ambiguous straight guys, closing the cooler when he's found his sandwich. Climbing onto Big Blue's bench seat, he unwraps his turkey-mayo-lettuce-tomato-on-wheat, takes a big bite, and leans his forehead against the cool window glass. Jensen doesn't know what the hell just happened. He kind of wants to jerk off, but he's in broad daylight in the middle of a nice 'burb and if he got too messy Chris would probably skin him alive and use his hide to fix the upholstery. He settles for morosely chewing his sandwich, pulping all the taste out of each bite before he swallows in order to take as long as possible.

Hopefully long enough for Jared to go back inside where he belongs.

:::

That night Jensen locks himself into their tiny office, shoving aside piles of lawn magazines, bills and band flyers and clearing an area for his notebook next to the computer keyboard. He picked up the notebook about three summers ago for ¢10 at a yard sale, and its purple cover has long since become bent and worn. The first dozen pages hold an extremely accurate tally of his financial resources: debts incurred, debts paid, savings accumulated, lawn equipment purchased – and always the total amount at his disposal, sketched carefully into the right hand margin at the end of every month and circled in red. Jensen is nothing if not careful about his money.

The rest of the notebook is full of information. He's written down any college he's ever been really interested in, filled pages with statistics – amount of financial aid offered per semester, percentage of non-traditional students accepted, percentage of over-aged students, core classes, basic tuition, estimated tuition-plus-books, estimated tuition-plus-books-plus-dorm, fax number, phone number, financial aid number – and bookmarked them with brochures and preliminary class catalogues. Newspaper articles taped in, his scratchy hand detailing campus perks, closest Starbucks, library availability, anything at all that he thinks might be important. Campus maps loll from between the pages like tongues, smiling young faces from twenty different pamphlets encouraging him to _Explore our new Chemical Engineering program!_ and _Check out our newly remodeled sports complex – the largest in the state!_. He's underlined and highlighted with religious intensity; this is Jensen's bible, and he worships at its wrinkled, cluttered lines.

He flips to the section he has on UWM, the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Jared's school, and stares at the picture he's taped in of the student union, crawling with kids heading in every direction like an explosion of academia. The bookstore glows in the background, a yellow and black beacon of commerce and school spirit. Everyone is going somewhere, doing something, and Jensen can't count the number of times he's stupidly wished he could just sort of fall into this picture and be done. He sighs, touches a finger to the page before closing the notebook.

College is something he wants so much that it scares him sometimes, if he's honest with himself. He's getting to the point where he would do anything to get in, anything at all, and that's not a safe place for him to be.

Chris asked him once way at the beginning of this, about a year out of high school when he still only wanted with a vague, half-hearted intensity, why he didn't just apply for financial aid, use his grades – which were good, correlating with an above average SAT score – and suck it up with a job on the side and a little heavier work load for four years. Jensen had shrugged and said that he wanted to take a year off, so why risk failure when he wasn't really looking to begin with? One year later again, Jensen realized that 99% of scholarships are geared towards high school students, 100% of colleges' efforts are geared towards high school students, and once you're off the grid, you're off the grid. A non-traditional, broke student who's let himself languish for a few years is no longer the priority, and Jensen could only be denied financial aid so many times before he gave up on conventional channels and instead turned to the internet and non-academic scholarships.

Jensen flips on the computer, waiting patiently for it to warm up. He has a feeling that this is going to be his last serious bid to get into a university, and if he doesn't succeed – he stops himself mid-thought. It doesn't bear thinking about.

Jensen brings up Google and types in "university of Wisconsin Milwaukee admissions." He stares at it for a full minute before he jerkily stabs the 'enter' key.

:::

So, Chris gets a gig.

Jensen isn't really listening when Chris starts telling him about the band's new job. He's thinking about how much money he's got in his savings account and combining it with his income this year – after taxes and after splitting Yardvark's profits with Chris, of course – and wondering if that plus, he doesn't know, his soul, is enough to give him collateral on a student loan, when Chris finishes a sentence with the words "at Summerfest."

Jensen lowers his chin and looks at Chris over his glasses.

"What did you just say?"

Chris' grin starts to grow to epic proportions. He spreads his arms wide and repeats, "Dude, we got a gig at Summerfest."

Jensen stands quickly. "You did not."

"I cannot tell a lie," Chris says, starting to bounce on the balls of his feet. "U.S. Cellular Stage at one o'clock in the afternoon, Jenny. Me and the band and our number one groupie, whaddya think?"

"You son of a bitch!" Jensen yells, and envelops Chris in a back-pounding bear of a hug, nearly lifting Chris off his feet. Chris squeezes back so hard Jensen hears his ribs creak, and Jensen can feel Chris shaking under his hands from nerves and excitement. Jensen grabs Chris by the shoulders, holds him at arm's length. "The publicity from that will be fucking unbelievable! You could get a record deal out of this!"

"Well, it's only at one o'clock, Jen, let's not get ahead of ourselves. The only people there are nine year olds and their grandmas."

Jensen shakes his head. "Chris. The biggest music festival. In. The. World." Because Summerfest? Holy shit. Summerfest is like the 'fest to end all 'fests. The Summerfest grounds are a gargantuan sprawl of asphalt and stages on the edge of Lake Michigan, edging up to the lawn of the Milwaukee Art Museum on one side and just creeping under the freeway overpass on the other. Jensen has gone every summer since he moved to Wisconsin, for ten years running, and has always been astounded by the sheer mass of humanity that crawls into the 'fest on a daily basis, and the sheer mess of drunken human scum that stumbles out of it at midnight each night. Not only that, but the staggering variety of music available means that you can listen to anything you damn well please, and 95% of it on free stages. He worked it out one year when he was curious, and realized that they routinely run 50-plus bands a day, every day, for ten days straight. Chris has hit the fucking jackpot.

"You've hit the fucking jackpot," Jensen says.

"I totally fucking have," Chris says, and whoops.

Kane is scheduled to play on June 26th, the first day, but dude. Stevie Wonder's headlining at the big stage, the Marcus Amphitheater, Gnarls Barkley is closing down the Big Backyard that same evening, and Three Dog Night – he's actually kind of light headed, thinking about it – are rounding out the day at the Classic Rock stage. They're all playing simultaneously. He'll have to make a _choice_.

It doesn't matter that Chris is gonna be there at one o'clock. Admission is free before three o'clock PM and people are already going to be pouring in who want to see any number of big name bands play later on at night. Chris has got it friggin' made.

They stand there grinning at each other for another second before Chris says, "Get me a goddamn drink, woman," and Jensen places one hand on his chest and sketches him a jerky bow before heading for the kitchen.

:::

Jensen freely admits that his favorite time of day at Summerfest is when it first starts to get dark. The silent presence of the lake pressing in to the Eastern edge of the grounds reflects the setting sun and the stretched-shadow advance of the Hoan Bridge lends a little shade to those relaxing in the crowds of the Big Backyard, waiting for the next band to come up and chewing on an eggroll from Wong's Wok. It's beautiful in a hazy, heatstroke kind of way, and though it can take twenty minutes to walk the length of a city block in this mob, Jensen loves to take the time to listen to the bands he passes and feel content with his lot in life, if only for one moment, as just another human being in the crush.

Chris' set had gone well. A number of scattered groups of high school kids lounging in the bleacher seats had waited around afterwards and asked for Chris' autograph on his CD, sold fresh stage-side. Jensen watched, sitting with his feet dangling over the edge of the stage and a plastic cup of beer by his side, and judged Chris' happiness by the nods of his cowboy hat. According to the hat, Chris was positively beaming. These kids were going to go home tonight and blog all about Kane and this was it. Jensen was here at the beginning, watching Kane take off into exactly what Chris had wanted all these years: a musical existence that actually pays.

Chris had come over afterward and leaned next to Jensen, face level with his knees.

"This is real, right? I did just rock this stage?"

"You rocked more than the stage, man. That one girl in the back looked like she'd found Jesus, and he sang in a band."

Chris laughed. "I love you, man," he'd said, serious and gruffly embarrassed, and Jensen cuffed the side of his head roughly.

"Get me a tissue, bitch," Jensen mock sniffled.

"Get it yourself," Chris grimaced, and they were back to normal in an instant.

Now Jensen's wandering. He broke away from Chris and the guys when they went to one of the beer tents, determined to get royally drunk in celebration and pick up as many wholesome, healthy Wisconsin chicks as possible. Jensen headed for the lakefront, trying to cool down from the heat of the black asphalt against the soles of his shoes. Chunks of white rock line the shore to prevent erosion, and he climbs out a little ways and sits down on a particularly flat boulder, turns his face into the wind. Summerfest flows by behind him and the lake flows by in front, forming an odd balance. Jensen closes his eyes and lets himself drift.

After a while he feels like he's being watched. He turns and scans the crowd, looking for Chris or Steve or some equally familiar face, and sees Jared instead. His muscles automatically tighten and release, lifting his shoulders to his ears and then dropping them again. Seeing Jensen watching, Jared starts to pick his way over the rocks towards him.

"I thought it was you. I wasn't quite sure from the back," Jared says once he reaches Jensen, and plops down on a neighboring rock.

Jensen clears his throat. "Jared," he nods hello.

He can't forget what happened in the Padalecki's backyard the other day. He's managed to talk himself out of taking Jared's stare as something more than it was meant to be, but Jensen can't deny the fact that he popped a boner right in front of the guy and that any chance of professionalism he hoped to maintain is probably ruined. Jensen's got it bad. Jensen would settle for "just being friends," and he's never _settled_ for any straight guy before. He had too much respect for himself.

Jared's taken all of that away. Not Jensen's respect so much as Jensen's dependence on that respect to get him safely through the day. Jensen's already lost, so why doesn't he just take as much of the winnings as he can get. He'll never be able to get over how easy it is to talk to Jared, anyway, and how much he _wants_ to talk to Jared.

"How're you likin' the 'fest?" Jared asks.

"Awesomely," Jensen says, and then smiles. He does have something to tell Jared. "Chris played a gig! Cellular Stage, man, it was incredible. I've never seen him sing like that before. It was like he was transported."

Jared nods, his smile blinding. "I was there! He invited me at the last minute. I thought they were good at the bar, but you're right, it was like something in the air here just pulled it all out of him."

"Did you get a chance to talk to him?"

"For a second or two. I gave him a hug and told him he better send some of the profit my way, since I helped him with the rest of that sod."

Jensen flushes at the reminder. He'd taken so long to eat his lunch that when he finished and headed back he'd met Chris coming the other way, ready to leave because he and Jared had laid every last scrap of sod and Jensen and Chris were done for the day.

"Sorry about that, I shoulda helped out," Jensen wrinkles his nose at the lake, not meeting Jared's eyes.

"Dude, do you think I care? It was good to get my hands dirty. Besides, I understand about guys and food. I mean, look at me. D'you think I got this big by not eating?"

"Dream on," Jensen chuckles, and then, "It's true, my turkey sandwich was definitely treatin' me right that day."

Jared throws back his head and hoots laughter at the sky.

"You're a funny guy, Jen, you know that?" He says when he's finished. The wind blows his bangs into his eyes and Jensen watches mesmerized as Jared vainly attempts to tuck them behind his ear only to have the whole mess fall loose immediately. "I'm surprised you aren't surrounded by a mob of admirers at all times. I should be passing you notes through a crowd three deep."

Jensen snorts. "Don't pay much attention, do you. I'm socially awkward enough to cancel out any personality points I might gain from being funny."

"Yeah, but you're gorgeous," Jared says. It's so fucking casual, tossed off like Jared might say, "Yeah, but you're cool," and Jensen feels the breath freeze in his lungs. Jared continues, "And you own your own business. You should have a flock, my friend."

Jensen squeezes out a sound he hopes Jared takes for amusement. He can feel the question building and he tries to stop it, but he can't. "You here with Sandy tonight?"

Jared shrugs. "Nah. She had to work. She's real sorry she missed Kane, though. She really liked them at the bar, too – made me promise to buy a CD after I heard them play today."

Jensen rubs his nose, scratching an imaginary itch to hide the way his mouth is trembling. Jared is playing with his head so goddamn badly, and he doesn't even knows if Jared's aware of it or if he's just the kind of guy who calls other guys 'gorgeous' and gets away with it.

"I'm sorry she missed it, too." Jensen hears himself say, and then he's hoisting himself to his feet. He's got to get away before he says something stupid, blinded by his helpless jealousy and his confusion. Unfortunately, Jared gets up as well.

"Mind if I walk with you?" He says, and of course Jensen says yes. He's caught again between the fact that he _wants_ to see Jared just to talk because Jared makes it so easy – makes it seem like Jensen's actually good at this whole social aspect of life that he's always believed he was missing – and the fact that he just plain wants Jared. Wants the way his T-shirt layers his shoulders with color, wants the way his eyes almost disappear when he smiles one of his never-halfway smiles, wants the way he slips his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, laying them flat against his thighs as he ambles along. It's a simple want, but made all the more dangerous because of its focused power.

They make their way over to the Big Backyard and buy burgers and fries at Major Goolsbys, the greasiest, greatest joint in the place. Jared gets a double cheeseburger and bites into it with a moan of contentment. Jensen gets a single and tries to avert his eyes as Jared orgasms his way through his patty and goes back to order another.

"I'm not gonna carry your giant ass to the hospital when you have a heart attack. I hope you know that," Jensen remarks, popping a fry into his mouth. Jared takes another huge bite and says something with his mouth full. Jensen snorts.

Jared swallows thickly, and then smiles. "You won't have to," he repeats. Jensen quirks an eyebrow. "I'll be flying there on angel's wings, 'cause this burger just sent me to heaven."

Jensen groans, rolling his eyes and collapsing into his seat. "Oh God, you're one of _those_ guys. Please tell me you don't use lame pick up lines on girls like you just did on your grease soaked slab of meat, there."

"Hey, if it ain't broke," Jared responds, moving to sip his soda.

"You get results with that shit?"

"You have seen Sandy, right?" Jared says. Jensen hides the way his throat clenches and forces a smile. Okay, so he was asking for that one. He must be glutton for punishment, or something.

"I've seen her, but I don't believe her."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Jared cautions, and his hands go protectively to his balls. Jensen laughs.

"I'll tell her you said it first."

"You wouldn't!" Jared exclaims, his big, soulful eyes pinning Jensen in place, and Jensen has to manfully restrain himself from kissing Jared full on his pleading, pouting lips.

"Maybe if you're real nice to me," Jensen teases, and Jared leaps up with a grin, grabbing Jensen's arm and hauling him to his feet.

"Come on. Let's go listen to some music. Maybe you'll be so overcome by the beauty you'll forget everything that's happened here," Jared says, winking.

Jensen doesn't think so.

:::

Jensen leans gratefully against the wall outside the bathrooms, waiting for Jared and mulling over the evening. He and Jared eventually decided to go to Three Dog Night, Jared bellowing out the words to _Mama Told Me Not to Come_ with lethal intensity while Jensen thanked God it was too loud for anyone to really hear him. Jensen got to croon along to _Shambala_ and _An Old Fashioned Love Song_ before Jared completely mangled _One_ hitting all the high notes at ear shattering volume while Jensen laughed helplessly on the bleachers beside him. They both went a little crazy when the band came out and played a finale of _Joy To The World_ – because who doesn't like that song – and ended up with their arms looped around each other's shoulders trying to sing through great gusts of laughter. Jensen wasn't sure what was so funny, just that they kept _looking_ at each other, and then one of them would start giggling and they just couldn't _stop_. Even now, Jensen's smiling just thinking about it.

Jared finally stumbles out of the bathroom humming the tune to _Never Been to Spain_, spots Jensen and comes over with his arms outstretched. He envelops Jensen in a giant hug, almost lifting Jensen off his feet. Jensen snorts and accepts it – Jared's been hugging him all night, getting more and more into Jensen's personal space with each beer. It's just Jensen's luck that Jared would be a friendly drunk.

"Drained the main vein?" Jensen inquires. Jared collapses onto Jensen's shoulder like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Jensen sighs, shaking his head in rueful amusement.

"You!" Jared crows, like that means something, and twines their fingers together. Jensen coughs uneasily, darting a quick look around. No one's paying any attention to them. Jared starts towing Jensen towards the darkened edge of the Lake, away from the main drag and the constant stream of people. The outer walk that nudges up against the Lake is mostly devoid of 'fest-goers except for the occasional subdued group trying to avoid the rowdy, drunken crowds. Jared settles on a small cluster of picnic tables shadowed by a large, overhanging tree, pulling Jensen eagerly along. When they reach the tables, Jared hoists himself up onto the edge of one and without preamble hauls Jensen between his thighs. Jensen squawks in surprise, his hands flailing out and landing on Jared's biceps.

"Dude," Jensen starts.

"Meant what I said. Earlier." Jared says cryptically. His face is in shadow. Jensen can't get a read on his tone of voice and he can't see Jared's eyes.

"Gonna have to be more specific than that, Jay," Jensen says nervously.

"About you being fucking gorgeous."

Jensen sucks in a breath, moving to back away, but Jared clamps his giant hands onto Jensen's hips.

"Don't run away from me, Jen." Jared slurs, voice going straight to Jensen's cock. Jensen squirms, trying to keep his hips from connecting with any part of Jared. The dark can hide things like a huge fucking boner, but direct contact with said boner most definitely will not hide anything at all.

"You're drunk," Jensen tries, turning his face to the side and focusing on the trashcan sitting a few feet away.

"M'not blind," Jared shoots back, hands curling tighter and _pulling_. Jensen resists, still. He wants so bad he can taste it – Jared's tongue sweeping into his mouth, God, Jared's hands digging into the swell of Jensen's ass, dragging him hard up against Jared, cock to cock – but not like this. Not like this, where he'll be a mistake in the morning.

"You have a girlfriend," Jensen manages, voice going thready and rough, desire ripping through its frayed seams.

"Do I?" Jared murmurs, before tilting his head and darting in, lips connecting briefly with Jensen's before Jensen makes one last gargantuan effort and wrenches his head away.

"Jared. You need to fucking think about this before–" Jared sinks his teeth into Jensen's neck and Jensen gasps. He licks a hot trail up the straining tendons and bites his way along Jensen's jaw to his ear. Jensen's lips part on a shaky exhale of Jared's name, before his hands tighten on Jared's arms. Jared chuckles, low and dark in a way that grabs Jensen by the throat and shakes him like a rag doll.

"Been wanting you," Jared sighs, and takes Jensen's mouth with his own, wraps huge palms around the globes of Jensen's ass and grinds their hips forcefully together as he spells his name on the roof of Jensen's mouth with his tongue. Jensen's hands slide up Jared's arms, one wrapping around his neck while the other flies to his hair. His fingers trip over Jared's ear, curving around Jared's warm skull; his hand is shaking helplessly and he wonders if Jared can feel it.

"God, stop thinkin'," Jared growls, and there's a hand at Jensen's fly, fumbling at the button. Jared pulls back, rests his forehead against Jensen's and stares down at his busy fingers, at the pale skin of Jensen's belly revealed as the zipper inches down.

Jensen hears someone make a breathy whining noise. He thinks that someone is himself, judging by the way his hips are jerking under Jared's hands, his cock straining against the barrier of his boxer-briefs. "Please," he moans, and he needs, God, he needs. He sticks his fingers in his own mouth, craving something to suck on, something to fill him up. His fingernails scratch fitfully against his tongue and he closes his eyes, savors the way his mouth floods with saliva, the way his throat works as Jared rubs a rough palm over the bulge of Jensen's cock.

"You need something to suck on, Jen? Need me to give you something to wrap those pretty lips around?" Jared sounds utterly wrecked. Jensen draws his fingers slowly out of his mouth, enjoying the way Jared's breathing quickens, the way the cool night air hits the spit drying on his knuckles. "God, you're fucking gagging for cock right now, aren't you," Jared rasps.

Jensen's eyes roll back. This is all happening so damn fast; he wanted it but he never saw it coming because Jared has Sandy and Jared is straight.

Jared's thumb traces Jensen's bottom lip, bringing him out of his own head as Jared presses his nail gently into the swollen flesh, dark eyes watching the way Jensen opens for him, turns his head so he can lick at Jared's fingers.

"How 'bout it, Jen?" Jared asks, "Gonna get on your knees for me? You gonna suck my cock?" Jared's hands move to his own fly, push his pants to the side. He's not wearing any underwear and his cock springs up, flushed red and hungry and God, Jensen doesn't know if he can do this. His mouth is watering and he's about to come in his own boxer-briefs with nothing more than Jared's slow touch through the fabric, but he doesn't know if he can do this.

"Jared," Jensen breathes, "Are you – are you sure?" Even as he asks Jensen can't stop looking at Jared's fucking beautiful cock, shiny at the tip where a bead of precome has oozed out and Jensen knows that Jared will taste absolutely amazing, that he'll fill Jensen's mouth like he was made to fit there, that Jensen will have a sore throat in the morning from Jared's cockhead and that he'll wake up, swallow, and think of Jared, his entire body going hot.

But he thinks that Jared will wake up, think of Jensen, and never want to talk to him again. He doesn't want to lose Jared, not yet, not like this. Not when he's just starting to get used to being the sidekick, the funny one, the guy that everybody likes.

In answer, Jared's hand wraps around the back of Jensen's neck, pulling him in for one more kiss that's so sweet it almost breaks Jensen's heart. "Please, Jen," Jared whispers. "Please. I want you to," and Jensen drops to his knees like he's been hamstrung. He slides his mouth over the head of Jared's cock and goes down, down, down, until his lips meet the edge of the fist he's wrapped around the base. His eyes close involuntarily as Jared pushes further into his mouth, gasping obscenities.

Jared's musky and hot, the bitter drip of him down the back of Jensen's throat making Jensen lose his mind, twist his tongue along the firm flesh filling him up. He's moaning, sending vibrations along Jared's cock, and he can feel Jared staring at him, eyes wide in the dark as his hair hangs in his eyes. When he opens his eyes to see for himself, Jared's chest is heaving, up and down, and his hips are working slowly in counter-point, pushing into Jensen's mouth just a little bit more with every thrust. Jensen opens wider and takes it, and Jared's head falls back on a quiet cry.

Jensen reaches back and rolls Jared's balls between his fingers, his nails catching gently on the wrinkled skin and Jared gasps three times in swift succession, each time a little higher in tone, before he floods Jensen's mouth with come. Jensen wants to smirk because Jared came so quickly but he's too busy swallowing, absorbing the salty-bitter taste of Jared's satisfaction.

Jared finally mewls helplessly and pushes Jensen roughly away when his cock becomes too sensitive. Jensen wipes his mouth, shoves his boxer-briefs down and starts to wildly jerk himself off, panting crazily and staring at Jared's slumped form, spent cock hanging out of his pants and looking like every wet dream Jensen's ever had in the past month.

"Fuck, Jen. Jensen," Jared says, his voice a thin husk, before he slides off the picnic table, shoves his own huge hand into Jensen's pants, wrapping fingers around Jensen's cock before he topples Jensen to the ground, landing on top of him. Jensen's thighs are yanked apart and Jared's weight forces him down, holding him open so wide he couldn't stop what's happening if he tried. It's the fucking hottest thing that's ever happened to him and it doesn't take long before he's coming, jerking up into Jared's fist, breath burning in his lungs as he hoarsely cries out Jared's name.

They lie there for a while, panting. They're mostly hidden by the picnic table and the shadows of the tree so no one bothers them, and eventually Jared rolls off and to the side. Jensen misses his solid weight already, feels lightheaded because he can breathe so easily.

"So, yeah," Jared says.

Jensen says nothing. He listens to the dim roar of thousands of people moving, oblivious, not far away. His blood is still racing hot and close to his skin.

Jared sits up, drawing his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees. He still hasn't looked at Jensen.

Jensen speaks, "You were drunk."

Jared nods silently. He's got a few leaves stuck to the back of his t-shirt and Jensen wants to brush them off, but he doesn't know how Jared will react to his touch.

"I mean, it's okay," Jensen tries again. "People do all kinds of stupid shit when they're drunk, you know? This – this doesn't have to be a big deal."

Jared stands abruptly, faces the lake. Jensen sits up quickly, says, "Jared!"

"What, Jen," Jared says tiredly. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking like he wants to sink into himself.

"Jared, I," Jensen hesitates, not sure how to put this. He has the crazy urge to yell, 'you started it!' Instead, he says, "I'm gay, Jared. So, it's not like I haven't sucked cock before. It doesn't have to mean anything."

Jared flinches and Jensen has no idea what to say. Jared's drunk and freaking out about what they've done and Jensen just wants to do it again. He doesn't have a fucking clue what to do with that.

Jared reaches out to Jensen suddenly, offering his hand, and Jensen takes it, uses it to pull himself to his feet. He reaches to adjust himself sheepishly, pushing his cock back into his pants and zipping up. His shirt's ruined but he doesn't really care.

Then Jared's there, in his space again and Jensen can't help but lean into him, tilt his face up and meet Jared's lips. They kiss for a long minute, tongues sliding wetly together as Jensen's eyes slide closed and Jared cups Jensen's jaw, thumbs rubbing gently along Jensen's cheeks.

"God," Jared sighs when he finally pulls back, "I can taste myself."

Jensen shudders helplessly, pushing his face to Jared's once more and kissing him, open mouthed. Jared responds with a soft breath, sucking Jensen's lower lip between his own before moving Jensen slowly away.

"Jared–" Jensen starts.

"I can't do this right now," Jared says, not meeting Jensen's eyes. He turns and starts to walk away, pauses before he leaves the shelter of the tree. "I need some time, Jensen. I gotta think about this."

Jensen nods even though Jared can't see him, and watches the way Jared's shoulders hunch as he strides off into the night.

Jensen touches a finger to his mouth. He can still taste Jared, too.

He goes to find Chris.

:::

Chris takes one look at Jensen's face and slings his arm around his shoulders, leading him away from the rowdy crowd of the rest of the band.

"I'll rip his nuts off," Chris starts, and Jensen shakes his head.

"Chris, no. It's not – it's not a big deal," He mumbles, "We're making it not a big deal."

"Obviously it _is_ a big fuckin' deal," Chris exclaims, his free arm flying up and out, "if it makes you look like this, Jensen!"

Jensen shakes his head again. He feels a little shocky, Summerfest colors swirling by on the edges of his vision. He's having a hard time focusing on anything other than the edge of Chris' cowboy hat, tilted close to his face.

Chris sighs. "Let's get you home, Jenny." He waves goodbye to the rest of the band, guiding Jensen with a hand on the shoulder. It's late enough that all but the most drunk have lurched off the Summerfest grounds and they make their way to Big Blue with relative ease. Chris and the band have already packed away their equipment with the help of a few Summerfest employees and Jensen collapses into the passenger side gratefully. His brain feels like it's trying to shut itself off, redirect all mental powers toward the bare minimum of existence. Jensen raises a hand to his face to rub his eyes and catches Jared's scent clinging to his fingers. He blinks and it's like he's on his knees all over again, choking on the overwhelming sensations of Jared's cock sliding over his tongue, Jared's hesitant fingers digging into his cheeks.

"Hey, you with me?" Chris says, his voice breaking into Jensen's mental fog. Jensen rolls his head to the side, manages to give Chris a half-hearted smile. Chris is bent over the wheel, one hand on the keys in the ignition, but all of his attention is focused on Jensen.

"M'fine," Jensen answers. Chris shakes his head and starts the car, lips pulled thin with anger.

The drive home is silent. Chris dumps Jensen immediately into bed, efficiently stripping Jensen of his shoes and jeans before slinging the sheet over Jensen's unresponsive form. Jensen turns onto his side, facing away from Chris. Chris turns off the light on his way out, and Jensen chases the flavor of Jared around his mouth.

:::

Mrs. Padalecki calls one week later, asking for a trim and a consult on a small locust tree that she wants to plant in her front lawn. Chris eyes Jensen, sitting quietly at the kitchen table sipping a glass of water, but Jensen gives no sign that he can hear Chris. Chris turns his back, cups the phone closer to his face and finishes setting up the appointment.

They roll sharply to a stop in front of the Padalecki house three days after the call. Chris slams Big Blue's door roughly behind him, stepping angrily to the trailer. Jensen sits for a minute, staring straight ahead through the windshield. He and Chris had argued the whole way here: Chris didn't want Jensen to come, insisted he could do the job alone, but Jensen refused to let this thing with Jared effect his everyday life.

He'd spent the night after the Summerfest incident tossing and turning, staring alternately at the walls and the ceiling and unable to sleep. The next morning he'd gotten up, made coffee, and smacked Chris with the rolled up newspaper. Chris had laughed and said, "Good to have you back, Jenny," and Jensen had promised himself that he _could_ be normal about this, no matter what happened. So here he was, sitting in front of the Padalecki house once more, sweating furiously and wishing he was one of those perpetually aloof people.

He startles when Chris knocks on the window, the staccato raps against the glass sounding loud in the stillness of the truck's cab. Chris gives him a look and walks off. Jensen jumps out of the cab, his back tightening into knots as he faces the house. Here goes nothing.

Jensen mows the lawn with his shoulders around his ears, darting glances left and right like he's ready to do a barrel roll off the mower and directly into the bushes should he spot Jared. Unsurprisingly, Jared chooses not to show his face. One time, Jensen thinks he sees him in one of the upper windows, but the figure quickly withdraws into the shadows of the house before Jensen can really identify it. It could be anyone, Jensen tells himself, but then again it could only be one person.

Jensen passes Chris, who's digging a hole in the front lawn for the new locust tree, several times. Mrs. Padalecki has joined him, lending a hand with a small shovel she must have taken from her own garage as it's one Jensen doesn't recognize. She and Chris look to be having a blast, getting covered with dirt and laughing, and Jensen suddenly finds himself bleeding his old jealousies. He envies Chris his easy attitude, his ability to befriend anyone no matter how reticent, as proved by Jensen himself. Now that Jensen no longer has Jared he feels like a social failure all over again, driving off the one new friend he's managed to make in the past five years. Seeing Chris yukking it up with Jared's own mother only serves to drive this point home, and Jensen starts to slump lower and lower in the mower seat, ending the day with a dejected trudge along the borders of the lawn with the edger.

He's carefully edging the pansy patch on the side of the house when Mrs. Padalecki speaks up from behind him.

"Hello, Jensen."

Jensen tries not to flinch, sticks what he hopes is a passable grin on his face, and turns. He throws Mrs. Padalecki a sloppy salute.

"Hey, Mrs. Padalecki."

"You and Chris both," Mrs. Padalecki groans, "For the last time, it's Sherri! You boys need to loosen up."

Jensen smiles and nods, adjusts his fingers awkwardly around the edging tool. Sherri's staring at him like she knows something.

"So, Jensen," Sherri continues slowly, "I was just talking to Chris about continuing his employment into the fall and winter months – he mentioned that you had a snow blower – and I was just wondering if you'd be available as well? He seemed reluctant to schedule you for anything. Said something about school?"

Jensen gapes. School? Chris must've cracked his last marble.

"Sorry, I'll be able to work. Chris was just pullin' your leg."

"You won't be attending school in the fall?" Sherri asks, her eyebrows rising. "I'd assumed you were in college. I'll understand if you need to bow out, Jensen. Chris seems sure he can handle the lawn on his own, and I'm willing to pay him for the extra time it takes."

"Nah, I'm – I never went to college. I'm not going, either." Jensen fumbles the words, coughing over the uncomfortable honesty. Sherri cocks her head, the motion reminding Jensen of Jared.

"Why not? You seem like a smart boy."

Jensen stares. Sherri suddenly seems to realize that she might be prying.

"I'm sorry, maybe this isn't something you want to talk about."

"No, ma'am, it's fine," Jensen says automatically. Sherri continues watching him with an inquisitive expression in her eyes, and Jensen _wants_ to tell her. Wants to tell someone what he's been going through. "It's just. I tried, you know?"

"Tried what? To get in?" Sherri sticks her gardening gloves into her pocket, shifting her weight to her other hip, and Jensen realizes that she's settling in for a long conversation. He feels a distant clamor of panic, but stubbornly pushes forward.

"Not right away. I wanted some time off. Just some time to figure out what I wanted to do, to try and make some money to do it with." Jensen bites his lip, stares at a long clump of grass he's missed. "I never really got back into it."

Sherri nods, looking thoughtful. "So you don't want to, anymore?"

Jensen meets Sherri's eyes, watches as understanding dawns.

"You want to," she states, pauses, "But you don't have the money? Even though you and Chris own your own business?"

"It's complicated," Jensen says, waving the question away. His courage gives out. "I should–" he begins, motioning to the ragged grass border stretching out in front of him. Sherri steps to the side.

"Of course."

Jensen moves past her, trimming the grass edge with maddening precision. He can feel her eyes on the back of his neck until he rounds the corner of the house.

Chris looks up and Jensen glares at him, switching off the edger and stalking over. "Thanks a lot, asshole," he snaps, "Now she knows I'm a complete fucking, broke-ass idiot."

"Jensen!" Chris says, "Don't sell yourself short. You're no idiot. You're just broke."

"Whatever," Jensen growls, stomps over to Big Blue and slings the edger angrily into the truck bed. He yanks the weed whacker out of it's place and tramps back around the house, attacking the stubborn back border of the lawn with vicious enjoyment. Everybody spits on Jensen, huh? At least Jensen can spit on some stupid plants. At least he can do that.

When he finishes mauling the stubborn tall grass, smiling thinly with harsh enjoyment, Sherri Padalecki is standing about ten feet away, watching him. Jensen nearly jumps out of his skin, but he quickly hides his reaction. What is it with Padaleckis and sneaking up on him?

"Mrs. Padalecki?" He asks after a clumsy minute of silence.

She makes an exasperated sound. "Sherri! I'm only telling you one more time."

"Right, right," Jensen says, raising a hand in apology. Sherri holds out a glass of what looks to be lemonade, the glass sweating in the heat, ice-cubes clinking softly.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Jensen accepts the glass warily, not wanting to offend Sherri any more than he already has. He takes a sip and immediately his eyes slam blissfully shut. The lemonade is glacially cold, sliding down his throat like a blessing.

"Jensen, I want to tell you something," Sherri says quietly. Jensen forces his eyes open. "I quit my old job at the beginning of the summer when I got hired onto a new position."

"Uhuh," Jensen says noncommittally, not sure where this is going.

"I work in school administration, Jensen. I'm trained to handle college admissions."

Jensen freezes, the glass of lemonade held to his lips.

Sherri continues implacably, "I was just hired as the Dean of Admissions at UWM."

Jensen lowers the glass. He frowns at the air next to Sherri's left ear. Sherri moves forward, offering Jensen a post-it with the name "Jeffery Dean Morgan" printed on it in bold lettering. The smaller numbers beneath the name blur as Jensen gulps a breath, sees his hand reaching out to take the brightly-colored piece of paper.

"This is the number for the head of financial aid. It's a direct line, one that's not included on the UWM website. I want you to give him a call, Jensen."

Jensen clutches the paper with numb fingers. He stares at Sherri, speechless. Sherri winks.

"If you mention my name it'll go a little smoother. Once you call I can try and fast-track your application. We could probably get you in for first semester, and if not that, then we'll definitely fit you into second semester."

"Why?" Jensen manages. His throat feels as dry as the Sahara. He doesn't think he's blinked once during this entire conversation.

Sherri lifts a shoulder in a casual gesture. "Why not? I like you, Jensen, and it seems to me that you deserve a break."

"But. I'm twenty-three," Jensen croaks.

"So? We had an eighty-three year old apply this fall; she dropped out of college originally to have kids and finally decided that she wanted to finish her remaining two years."

"I have no money."

"Call Jeff. He'll help you out." Sherri puts a hand on Jensen's shoulder, squeezes lightly. "I know this is all very sudden, but you should know that Jeff sets aside a certain amount for non-traditional students every year. It's a new department policy."

Jensen can't help it. He sweeps Sherri into a hug, pressing her to his chest on a shaky breath.

"Thank you," he whispers. Sherri runs a hand up his back, between his shoulder blades. He can feel her smile pressed against his shoulder. When he finally sets her down again, Sherri drags a hand through her hair, beaming.

"I knew you'd appreciate this exactly the way it's meant to be appreciated," she says enigmatically, laughing. "Consider this a perk of the job, Jensen. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

Jensen stares at her retreating back, then stares down at the scrap of paper in his hand, the scrap of paper that controls his entire future. He slips it into his pocket and lifts his face to the clouds, weed whacker hanging forgotten in his hand, Jared standing forgotten in the darkened window watching Jensen with darkened eyes.

:::

Jensen calls Jeff that night, getting a gruff hello before he launches into a nervous introduction. He doesn't need to say anything more than his name.

"Ackles, huh? Sherri called and told me about you. Why don't you come in tomorrow and we can check some things out. How's ten o'clock work for you? UWM admissions is in Lubar Hall, on Maryland Avenue. Think you can find that, son?"

Jensen nods, forgetting he's on the phone, before blurting, "Yes! That'd be – that'd be just great, thank you, sir."

"Call me Jeff," Jeff chuckles, "God, you kids make me feel old. See you tomorrow, Jensen."

Jensen hangs up the phone and has to bite the side of his hand to keep from screaming like a deranged teeny-bopper. Finally, something is happening.

The door slams open suddenly and Jensen jumps. Chris is holding the other phone in his hand, beaming like the sun.

"You listened in!" Jensen yells, almost offended.

"Damn right I did! Jenny, you're goin' to college!" Chris crows, smile wide as he visibly swells with pride. Jensen's lips curve upward in response. He drops the phone on his bed and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes, biting his lip through a laugh.

"Jesus fuck, Chris. I'm really doing this."

"Jesus fuck, Jenny. You're finally doing exactly what you're worth," Chris says. He does a little dance step in Jensen's bedroom doorway, and then stops, an idea blooming over his face. "I got something for you, Jen." He turns on his heel and practically skips down the hall, muttering happily the whole way. Jensen stays seated. He doesn't know whether to go outside and shout his triumph to the stars or sit on his bed and cry his fucking eyes out. His life has been totally surreal lately: first Jared and now this. What can Chris possibly add to that?

Chris appears in the doorway after about a minute, holding a small slip of paper. He crosses the room and holds it out to Jensen, who takes it slowly. Then he sees what's written on it and jumps to his feet in surprise.

"Chris, no. No! I can't let you do this." Jensen swings his eyes wildly to Chris' face. Chris looks utterly calm, the edges of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"What, you think I wouldn't pay you for all the times you were our roadie? Shit Jensen, that's eight years you've been doin' that for free. You some kind of roadie whore?"

Jensen opens and closes his mouth a few times. He looks down at the check in his hand. The check for _fifteen thousand dollars_.

"Jensen," Chris says abruptly, and Jensen looks up. "I love you, dude. I know this is the only thing you've ever really wanted, and I want you to have it." Chris shrugs. "It's as simple as that. You better say thank you soon, son, or I'm gonna start to feel bad."

Jensen chokes on the words, finally settling on flinging his arms around Chris and crushing the life out of him. Chris hugs him fiercely back and if both their eyes are a little wet, well, they can crush beer cans on their foreheads later or something.

Jensen steps back and stares at the check once more. Chris' hand writing is quick and excited, almost scratching through the paper at one point, and Jensen can tell that he wrote it just now in his enthusiastic frenzy.

"How can we afford this? How can you afford this?" Jensen asks. Chris cups his hand around Jensen's neck and squeezes affectionately.

"You really don't know how much I make at gigs, do you?"

Jensen raises an eyebrow. "Are we millionaires and you never told me?"

"Nothin' like that, Jen, but me'n the band get paid and we get tips – all that builds up quicker'n you'd think."

"God, Chris." Jensen breathes, overwhelmed by what Chris has done. It hits him that he's been ignoring Chris these past few months with Jared; that he's been treating Jared like a brand new toy and that along the way he dropped Chris like a moldy old teddy bear, and still Chris has stood by him through everything.

Maybe Jensen's not quite as socially inept as he's always thought. He managed to become friends with Chris a long, long time ago and he's kept him around all these years, so maybe he should look a little closer at the way he's been treating Chris when he's around Jared.

Jensen looks up and meets Chris' eyes. "Thank you," he says, simple and heartfelt, his voice going rough on the last syllable, and moves his hand to rest on Chris' shoulder. They stand there for a long while, linked hand-to-shoulder-hand-to-shoulder, beaming at each other. Chris finally smacks the side of Jensen's head.

"I gotta go to bed, Jen. I got a long day tomorrow with you gone: Mr. B, Mrs. K, Mrs. C and a new family that Mr. B was telling me about, the Ruggeros."

Jensen nods, "Right, of course." He pulls Chris into a quick, one-armed hug.

Chris ruffles his hair and leaves, a bounce in his step.

Jensen goes back to staring at the check. With this to build on plus the measly amount he's managed to save over the years and the financial assistance he'll probably pick up from Jeff, he'll be able to pay for a year and a half at least. Once you're back in the system like that – a registered student, making grades, participating in sports and clubs, writing for the school paper or some shit – colleges tend to not want to let you go. He'll keep working over the summers and holidays and hopefully with Jeff's continued help he'll be set for all four years. Jensen flops onto his back on his bed and gazes at his constellation of college logos and for the first time he lets himself think, for all four years, and maybe more.

Without thinking he reaches for his phone to call Jared and tell him what's happened. He's already finished dialing the number and is listening to the ring when he realizes he shouldn't be doing this. Unfortunately, Jared picks up before Jensen can react.

"Jen?" He asks, and Jensen's entire body clenches at hearing Jared's voice. It's uneven, like he's just woken up from a nap. Jensen wants to be next to him, watching his face break into a smile.

"I – hi," Jensen blurts clumsily. After the silence stretches to an uncomfortable length, he continues. "I just, uh, wanted to tell you some news."

"Oh?" Jared says politely. Jensen feels the bubble of his happiness start to deflate. Jared hasn't bothered to come out and greet Jensen once since Summerfest; he hasn't called and he hasn't left a message with Chris. He's shut down their friendship like Jensen's the one who initiated the blow job, and Jensen's suddenly, incandescently angry. He manages to keep his voice calm.

"Chris and I are giving your mom a discount. The next two times we visit'll be half price." Jensen lies, making a mental note to tell Chris later.

Jensen can hear Jared moving around – sitting up? – before he says, "Okay."

Again, silence leaps between them. Jensen presses the phone to his ear, listening to Jared's breathing. He's got a funny feeling that Jared's doing the same thing.

"Jen, you should know," Jared breaks the quiet unexpectedly. Jensen realizes he's holding his breath. "I'm not… angry about what happened."

"Then what are you?" Jensen demands, and the words feel like they're ripping themselves laboriously from his gut.

"Not angry," Jared repeats.

"Great," Jensen says tersely. "Look, the only reason I called you is because I couldn't find your mom's number and Chris is asleep. So. Tell your mom, I guess."

"Kind of late to be calling my mom, don't you think," Jared remarks, his voice dipping low.

Jensen flounders momentarily, before recovering. "I wanted to call before I forgot."

"Right," Jared chuckles.

"M'gonna go," Jensen says. God, why did he ever call Jared, even accidentally. He should have recognized what he was doing and stopped himself.

"I broke up with Sandy," Jared says softly, and Jensen hits the end button before he can reply. He drops the phone to the floor and his face into his hands.

"God, Jared. What the fuck are you doing," Jensen says, his voice shaky.

He doesn't want to, but that night he jerks off with the guttural sound of Jared gasping through his orgasm ringing in his ears.

When Jensen finally falls asleep, he's thoroughly convinced himself that he can't ever see Jared again.

:::

Jensen's fifteen minutes early to see Jeff, though Jeff doesn't bring him in until he's twenty minutes late. Jeff's a large, serious looking man and when he smiles through his neatly trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard, it's the kind of smile that Jensen associates with pain. Jeff hands him a sheaf of papers and waves a hand, indicating he should start reading.

"What're these?" Jensen asks. He wants to know before he spends three hours digging through scholarships he's already tried.

"These," Jeff says, "are your financial aid forms."

"Jesus," Jensen yelps, thumbing quickly through the stack. "I thought these were scholarship applications. This is just what the _university_ wants to know?"

"Oh, yeah," Jeff says pleasantly, "Your blood type, your mother's maiden name. You know, whether you perform Satanic rituals in your spare time. That kind of thing." He tosses Jensen a pen. "Start writing, kid."

Jensen shudders and groans his way through what must be every possible form known to mankind – in triplicate, no less. When he finally comes up for air what feels like twelve hours later, Jeff hands him a mocha and steeples his fingers together, leaning forward and fixing Jensen with a penetrating stare. Jensen stares back. His ass is numb and he's a little too shell-shocked to register that he should probably be intimidated right about now.

"So, Jensen," Jeff begins, "I hear you're interested in sports medicine."

Jensen blinks. "How–?"

"I pulled your search history on our website. You registered yourself as an interested party and as such the university has access to all of your online activities on the school server's public domain. Since you're an interesting case I wanted to get to know a little more about you."

Jeff smiles like what he's just said isn't at all creepy, and then produces another pile of papers from thin air. Jensen wants to cry. "This is the application to the UWM College of Health Sciences. I'll go get you another mocha."

When he finally stumbles from Jeff's office squinting like a bat and ready to take on the four-year money sucking beast that college has apparently become, Jensen feels the urgent need to do something incredibly stupid. He calls Chris and tells him to bring towels.

Chris pulls up in Big Blue not too long after that and they drive down to Bradford Beach, stripping to their boxers and throwing themselves crazily into the shockingly cold waters of Lake Michigan. Jensen comes up gasping, Chris laughing, and Chris dunks Jensen before he gets a chance to catch his breath. This time he sputters his way to the surface on a yell of triumph, raises his fists to the sky and jumps up and down a few times, the water splashing awkwardly around his waist.

"I had to convince Mrs. Castelli to stay at home. When I told her what you were doing she was so proud of you, Jen!" Chris shouts, his wet hair plastered to his face.

"I'm in, Chris! College of Health Sciences, bitch!" Jensen exclaims.

"Better late than never," Chris snarks, and Jensen lets himself fall back into the achingly cold silence of the Lake. He concentrates on the sharp pain of the frigid water biting into the soft skin of his arms, pressing against his eyelids and lips, stroking along the backs of his knees and stealing his breath. He has a moment of perfect clarity, of watching the liquid sunlight drift across his closed eyes and knowing what he wants to do with his life, who he wants to do it with. Then Chris is yanking him from the water and into a hug.

"I want some ice cream," Jensen says.

"Right on," Chris says, and they drive to Lixx with their towels wrapped around their waists, basking in the late summer sun shining through Big Blue's windows.

:::

The next time Jensen sees Jared, Jensen's got a backpack on his back that must weigh sixty pounds and he's in line for pizza at the Gasthaus, the basement restaurant in the UWM Student Union. He stiffens and then quickly turns away, hoping Jared won't recognize him. When he sneaks another peek Jared is sitting and laughing with a group of people in front of the big TV screens, chewing on some fries like he doesn't have a care in the world. He doesn't seem to notice Jensen and Jensen scurries to a booth on the far side of the basement, hunching over his pizza and eating it as quickly as possible before getting the hell out of there.

Unfortunately, the main section of the UWM campus – including the Student Union and Lubar hall where Jensen's still routinely visiting Jeff to work out the last remaining kinks in his payment plan – is apparently the _only_ place that Jared hangs out.

Jensen ducks behind a tree two days later and curses his rotten luck. Everywhere he turns he sees Jared. It's like the damn moron is following him, though he never shows any sign of noticing Jensen and never tries to approach him. Peering around the trunk, Jensen watches Jared amble towards the foot bridge that crosses Maryland Avenue, the busy street that runs through the center of campus. Jared looks unconcerned, iPod headphones glued to his ears as he strolls along. Jensen sighs and leans back against the tree. He can wait for a minute and then hopefully Jared will be gone.

The problem is that every time Jensen sees Jared he wants to go up and say hi. He _misses_ Jared, misses just talking to him, one, and two, he's still attracted to him. He tries to convince himself of his anger, his hurt at being abandoned and his confusion over Jared's sudden break with Sandy, but it's getting harder and harder to feel irate every time he sees Jared looking easy and approachable and so goddamn touchable. Jensen smacks a hand to his forehead in an effort to clear his mind. That's when Jared speaks up from the other side of the tree trunk.

"You gonna stop hiding soon?"

Jensen's breath catches audibly. He stares sightlessly across the quad. Jared remains on the other side of the tree and Jensen is at once grateful and disappointed.

"Hiding? I'm not. Hiding." Jensen stammers.

"Sure," Jared says. There's the soft susurration of grass, Jared shifting his weight. "So maybe I'm done needing some time."

"Maybe _I_ need some time," Jensen manages to squeeze out. His voice sounds tiny and ineffectual.

"Can I at least talk to you? Face to face?" Jared's voice breaks and for the first time Jensen considers the fact that Jared might actually be serious about Jensen.

"No!" Jensen barks, much too quickly. "I mean, not yet. Not now."

"Okay." Jared says, and Jensen stiffens as he feels a lingering brush of fingers against his own. "See you around. And I do see you, Jensen. You're not very good at discretely taking cover." There's a hint of amusement in Jared's voice as well as sadness, and then he's gone. Jensen sags against the tree and frantically reminds himself that he's _angry_, dammit. Jared's messed him around and tossed him aside and now he wants to get him back? That shouldn't be all right with Jensen. He shouldn't want that, not after everything that's happened.

Over the next few weeks Jensen becomes a pair of eyes. He's constantly on the lookout for Jared, scanning the faces of the crowds of students that pulse through UWM. Every time he sees someone who's unusually tall with shaggy hair, or hears someone who's laugh is just that little bit feminine, he tenses up. He wants to talk to Jared, yet he wants to avoid him at all costs. He wants to ask just what the fuck Jared thinks he's doing, yet at the same time he has no desire to find out.

He sees Jared most days, partially as a result of his perpetual alertness and partially because Jared is almost certainly seeking him out. Jared always manages to meet his gaze somehow, and Jensen's left staring after him, yearning, before he remembers that he's trying to put distance between himself and Jared. Their game of glances has gone on for so long that Jensen's almost become comfortable with it, though it's an odd sort of comfort that tingles along his spine each time he spots Jared across the room, watching him with a faint smile on his lips.

Jared seems content to wait as long as it takes, which is why Jensen's surprised when one day Jared actually approaches him. Jensen's sitting out on the quad on one of the concrete benches. He's checking his schedule and trying to organize the contents of his messenger bag before he has to make his way to his next class, and then Jared's sitting next to him. Jared stares at the ground between his feet, hands clasped loosely in front of him and elbows on his knees.

"So, I can't wait any longer," he says softly, and his voice comes out shaky, like he's been practicing that single line over and over and he still hasn't got it quite right. He turns to look at Jensen and his eyes are like painful, begging holes. Jensen can't look away.

"I understand that you're angry with me," Jared goes on, "and I understand why. It was stupid of me to run away at Summerfest. I just, I panicked, and I thought of Sandy and I've been interested in guys before, Jensen, you have to know, but I've never really _done_ anything and not only was I _doing_ something but it was _cheating_ on someone who I thought I loved." Jared pauses to take a breath. His nervous babble is almost endearing, but Jensen is determined to remain aloof. "Anyway, I regretted leaving you, like immediately, but then I couldn't get up the nerve to call because I was sure you'd be angry at me – and you were, you still are – and then the longer I waited the more impossible it seemed and I'd see you mowing the lawn or whatever and just be dying to come talk to you but it just. It got harder and harder and I… I'm sorry."

Jared finally trails off, staring at Jensen. He's blushing, his hair hanging in his eyes. Jensen's pinned his focus to Jared's interlaced fingers, tracing their swift lines.

"Jensen?" Jared ventures.

"I… can't pretend that I'm not mad. Or that I'm not hurt." Jensen says. He meets Jared's eyes again, searching. Jared looks back guilelessly, and Jensen sees only truth.

"I get that," Jared says.

They sit quietly for a few minutes.

"So, what do you want?" Jensen says finally. "Because I don't think I can be friends with you right now."

Jared looks pained. "Oh. Not even. Um, not even a little bit?"

Jensen carefully rephrases, "I don't think I can be only friends with you right now."

Jared bites his lip and looks away. "I don't know if I can be more," Jared says, and Jensen moves to get up but Jared instantly clamps fingers tightly around his forearm. "At least, I've never tried. Like I said, I don't know how to date a – a guy."

Jensen relaxes back into his seat. "Did you really break up with Sandy?"

"Right away. I realized that it wasn't fair to her, to be thinking about you all the time. I didn't even know I was doing it until one night when she called me out, asked me why I never talked to her anymore. Told me I was too wrapped up in myself to see what was happening to the two of us." Jared runs tense fingers through his hair. "Truth is I was too wrapped up in you. Broke it off that same night."

Jensen feels a knot of warmth settle low in his belly. The urge to give Jared a second chance is overwhelming. Even just sitting next to him like this, barely touching except for a few strained points of contact, Jensen can feel a sweltering awareness working its way down his spine.

Jensen stands abruptly, moving quickly enough that Jared can't grab him again, and the anguished look in Jared's eyes combined with Jared's outstretched hand has Jensen making a quick, crazy decision. He'll probably regret it.

"All right. Let's see how it goes."

Shit, he's _already_ regretting it, but Jared's face blossoms with relief. He stands up, lurching into Jensen's space and they both tilt helplessly towards each other. Jared's eyes are fixed on Jensen's mouth, then dart over his whole face as if to memorize his features. Jensen's lips open on a breath and they hang there for an endless, agonizing second before Jensen manages to get himself under control and pull back. Jared's look is heated.

"I gotta go. See you." Jensen announces, before walking quickly away. Behind him Jared exhales on a sharp laugh.

"Later, Jensen," He says, his voice low and full of promise.

:::

So, they hang out.

At first it's awkward because Jensen knows that Jared's aiming for a let's-be-boyfriends kind of vibe, and Jared knows that Jensen knows, and Jensen knows that Jared knows he knows, but what _neither_ of them knows is if that's what they really want. This means that, though the vibe exists, it's not really going anywhere. It exists when Jared orders for both of them at the Gasthaus, but it stalls when Jensen insists on paying for his own meal. It exists when Jared lays a gentle hand on Jensen's lower back to guide him through a crowd of students, but it stalls when Jensen moves away, carefully smiling to show that he's not angry, he's just not there yet.

They start eating lunch together every day, meeting on the quad or in the Student Union and making stilted conversation, laughing guiltily when their eyes meet or their knees brush under the table. Once their fingers touch when they're simultaneously reaching for the ketchup; Jared jumps away so quickly it's like he's been burned, but when Jensen meets Jared's eyes a second later Jared looks like he wants to fuck Jensen through the goddamned table. Jensen takes a few unsteady breaths to get himself under control and when he looks again Jared's eating his burger like nothing happened.

Eventually, lunch graduates to meeting for coffee in the morning at the on-campus Starbucks. They each memorize the way the other likes their coffee and it gets to the point when whoever arrives first will order both, tossing it and a few packets of sugar at whoever slept late that day.

Lunch and coffee morphs into lunch-coffee-and-study-break; turns out they both have between one and two o'clock open on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, so they meet in the Golda Meir library and pretend to stare at their textbooks when really they're sneaking glances at each other. Jared lends Jensen loose leaf and tries not to stare when Jensen's lips slide around the end of his pencil. Jensen lets Jared use his hi-lighter whenever he needs it and touches Jared as much as possible. They both bounce questions off of each other, proof read papers, shuffle flash cards – Jensen asks Jared's opinion on teachers, being a freshman and all while Jared is a sophomore, and Jared teases Jensen about his incredibly anal, color-coded notes.

One week the study break goes unexpectedly long and they end up hanging out after they're both done with classes for the day, walking down Oakland Avenue and ordering truly giant sandwiches at Cousin's Subs. They sit across from each other in a tiny, depressing booth in the tiny, depressing restaurant and Jared laughs so hard he cries when Jensen describes his first gig with Chris and the way he was so nervous he managed to tangle himself up in the curtain and fall onto the stage, unable to move until Chris actually stopped playing and helped unwrap him. Jensen flushes with embarrassment, smiling with a secret sense of pride as Jared wipes his eyes with a napkin. Jared asks if Jensen wants to hang out again tomorrow, and Jensen says yes.

Hanging out evolves into going out, and they start driving places, neither of them admitting that this is anything more than two friends visiting Milwaukee hotspots. They go to the Milwaukee Public Museum on a Monday – a free day – and see the IMAX movie _Dinosaurs Alive!_ with two free vouchers that Jared got from his mom. Afterward they wander the exhibits, stopping at the candy store hidden in the Streets of Old Milwaukee before riding the escalator to the very top floor and making their way slowly back down, through fake arctic tundra and glass-eyed animal displays.

The art museum is another experience entirely. The building itself is shaped like a bird with wings that open slowly when the weather is clear, moving away from the glass sides of the building in a stately rise. Jared insists that they try and get lost, saying it's the best way to experience a museum, and they wander the older wing, squinting at folk art and Cubist art and Impressionist art until they're both cross eyed. They eventually find the stairs and discover that the railings are made up of two parallel metal bars, a perfect fit for their butts that delivers a smooth dream of a ride.

The lakefront offers something different, often muggy with the heat and moisture off Lake Michigan and layered with the truly horrific smell of decaying algae combined with a waft of dead fish. Jensen tries to breathe through his mouth for almost a half an hour before Jared says, "You know, it's not so bad," and Jensen takes an experimental sniff only to discover that Jared's right: he's gotten used to it. They rent a crazy machine that looks like it's half bike and half car and pedal down every footpath they can find, Jared jerking the steering wheel haphazardly in all directions and laughing when Jensen shrieks and grabs for a non-existent oh-shit handle.

It's when they've returned their bike-cum-car that Jared pops the question.

"Hey, my mom made brownies last night. Wanna come over and taste 'em?" Jensen stiffens and Jared plows on, avoiding Jensen's obvious discomfort. "Her brownies are epic, man. Legendary. I'm convinced they can cure cancer, only we've never given them to anyone with cancer so it's kind of impossible to actually _know_ that, but I had a cold once and they sure kicked the shit out of that beast–"

"Jared."

Jared snaps his mouth shut.

"Maybe. Maybe another time. I'm kind of tired right now."

Jared nods and they hitch a ride back to campus on the UWM bus. Jared walks Jensen to his car, stands awkwardly while Jensen buckles himself in, and waves as Jensen drives away. Jensen has never been so grateful to get the hell _out_, but as he's waiting for a red light he discovers that he's not uncomfortable with the idea of being in Jared's house and somewhere during the twenty minute ride home he remembers that he really fucking likes brownies. And that he kind of wants Jared to ask again.

Jared doesn't disappoint. The very next day as they're sitting in the Gasthaus eating lunch Jared pokes Jensen with a fry and says, "So, my grandma brought over some lasagna last night. You interested in leftovers? Later?"

Jensen keeps himself from smiling and manages to say with a straight face, "I would be but I'm watching my weight right now. You would not believe what this cafeteria food is doing to my ass."

Jared stares at him, incredulous, until Jensen starts laughing and he sees the light of understanding dawn on Jared's face. Jared smirks and Jensen winks and suddenly Jared's wise to Jensen's little game.

"You're not that gay. You can't be," Jared says, raising an eyebrow.

"You haven't seen me shopping," Jensen retorts, and feels a surge of pride when Jared laughs. The subject is dropped for now, but Jensen can't wait to see what Jared comes up with tomorrow.

They're in the library playing paper football when Jared says, "So, hey, I was thinking I'm gonna have myself a _Terminator_ marathon tonight. Wanna come over?"

Jensen says, "Sorry, I promised Chris I'd help him cut his hair," and Jared snorts disbelievingly, but he's grinning.

So it continues.

"I was thinking I'd bake some oatmeal raisin cookies tonight. Feel like helping out?" Jared asks, casually flipping through the notebook for his morning class.

"Sorry, Chris and I gotta shampoo the carpet," Jensen replies. Jared smiles and rolls his eyes.

"I'm trying to breed dinosaurs by filling in their broken DNA with toad DNA chains. Care to join me?" Jared drawls as they play darts in the Gasthaus.

"Can't tonight, Jared. I gotta sharpen the blades on the lawn mowers," which is true, but would only take him a half hour. Plenty of time to hang out. Jared gives him a look.

"I'm building a boat to save the purest of the human race. You know anything about carpentry?" Jared says, handing Jensen his morning coffee.

"Not a goddamned thing," which is also true. Jensen dumps his sugar packets in his coffee and snorts as Jared mimes stabbing him with a knife.

"So it's a full moon tonight and my mom's a werewolf. Wanna help me lock her in the basement?" Jared says, leaning back in his chair and tossing a small stress ball into the air over and over again.

"Don't have any silver bullets," Jensen says, which is oddly not true. Chris had some made one night a few years ago when he was drunk and paranoid and probably crazy. Sadly, they don't have a gun to fire them.

It's really not about the question itself, Jensen decides, it's just the fact that it's being asked, that Jared's this persistent – and the fact that Jared's willing to go so far to make this thing between them work is not lost on Jensen – and that he's falling more in love with Jared every time he opens his mouth.

It's a Thursday, the bite of late September in the air, when Jared says, "I'm trying to start a bug collection. Wanna come catch spiders in my basement?"

Jensen feels a warm burst of clarity, of surety, in his chest. He turns to Jared. "I thought you'd never ask."

:::

"My mom's not home," Jared says as soon as Jensen gets out of his car. He'd followed Jared's dusty red Toyota to the Padalecki house, though he could probably find his way there from anywhere in the Milwaukee area by now.

Jared's looking at Jensen like what he just said should be important, and Jensen realizes that's because Jared's warning him they'll be completely alone together for the first time in a long time.

"'Kay," Jensen says. Jared watches him carefully for a reaction, before he turns and heads up the front walk. Jensen trails along behind. "You need to get your grass cut."

Jared chuckles. "Well, that'd be my mom's business. Not really interested in the grass so much as I am in who comes to cut it and how much I can distract them."

"Oh, I see," Jensen teases, "You were always trying to sabotage Chris and I, weren't you. Here I thought you might actually like me as a person."

Jared holds the door open for Jensen, gesturing him inside as he says, "Jen, you're not just any person."

Jensen leers at Jared, whose mouth curves into a smile, before moving into the kitchen. It's cool and dark, the shades shut tight to keep out the sun. A stack of magazines sits messily on the counter. Jensen leafs idly through them: _Time_, _Popular Science_, _The New Yorker_, and oddly, _Teen People_. He's aware of Jared entering the kitchen, stepping to his side. The tension between them twists and thickens.

"So, where are all these spiders I'm supposed to be catching?" Jensen inquires softly.

Jared makes an aborted move to reach for Jensen, thinks better of it and leans back against the counter, hip so close to Jensen's arm that he can feel the heat radiating from Jared's body.

"Ain't no spiders and you know it."

Jensen nods. Jared bends towards him like a willow tree, slow yet deliberate.

"Jen, can we go upstairs?" Jared asks, and this is it. This is the moment Jensen's been waiting for since he first met Jared, before all of the shit hit the fan and they flew together and apart and together again. He's trying not to whoop for joy and at the same time he's trying not to run screaming. Jared stays poised, tilted towards him and breathing in barely audible gusts of air. "We don't. We don't have to. I've got some movies or something."

That's what pushes Jensen to decide, the fact that Jared's still willing to give him an out even though Jensen's been mad at him, even though Jensen's made him wait for months. Jensen knows that Jared was a stupid fuck at Summerfest, but he also knows Jared was drunk and though that's no excuse, that's a reason. That's something that Jensen can accept and forgive and for Christ's sake Jared broke up with Sandy and didn't give up on Jensen even when Jensen'd vowed he'd never speak to Jared again. And Jared is his friend, first and foremost. A good friend, someone who makes Jensen laugh, who makes Jensen feel loved and makes him want to get up in the morning merely for the possibility of seeing Jared smile.

Jensen wants to take that feeling one step further. He's always believed that the best relationships are based on friendship. He reaches for Jared's hand, wraps his fingers around its broad palm and raises it to his mouth, kisses Jared's thumb. "Yeah, okay. Lead the way," he murmurs.

Jared lets out a ragged breath and wraps Jensen up in his arms, hugging the life out of him, lips pressed to the shell of Jensen's ear. Finally he moves away and leads Jensen upstairs to a typical messy-boy bedroom, fixes Jensen with a burning gaze as he closes and locks the door. They stand and stare at each other for an endless moment, their breathing quickening and synchronizing, before Jensen takes a half step forward and Jared practically tackles him onto the bed, stretching out on top of him and laying hot, damp kisses all over Jensen's face.

"God, Jen, I've wanted – " Jared mumbles, and Jensen digs his fingers under Jared's T-shirt, scratches along Jared's back and yanks the shirt up and off. Jared rears back and immediately returns the favor, almost ripping Jensen's collar in his haste, fingers flying immediately to Jensen's jeans. Jensen hesitates only a moment before lifting his hips and allowing Jared to slide them off, starts picking at Jared's own jeans.

Suddenly its skin to skin, bare heat burning Jensen alive and he can't stop gasping for breath. He can't stop running his fingers over Jared's arms, over the working muscles of Jared's back, the firm curves of Jared's ass. Hot puff of air against Jensen's neck and Jared says, "Can I kiss you?" Jensen barely nods before Jared's on him, shoving their mouths together with a grateful moan. His huge hands cup Jensen's face, thumbs stroking the soft places beneath Jensen's eyes as he kisses the breath out of Jensen. Jensen arches into Jared, trying to get closer, get more.

"Imagined you like this," Jared groans, grinding down, pushing their cocks together again and again and Jensen can't keep from crying out, from moving with Jared. He tosses his head back with a grimace, all of his senses focused on where they're pressed against each other.

"Like how?" Jensen finally manages to say, his voice a burnt-sugar drawl that surprises even himself. "Did you touch yourself when you did, Jared? Fuck your fist and think of my ass?" Jared stiffens against him, and suddenly Jensen _knows_. "No, you fucked your own ass, didn't you, Jared. How many fingers? How many fingers did it take you to think it was me?"

Jared shakes his head like he can't think straight. "I – three. Three fingers."

"And it still wasn't enough, was it," Jensen growls, squeezing Jared's ass, running a finger down Jared's crack.

"God, I bought – I had to buy a dildo. I had to buy a fake cock, Jen, and I'd come home every time you told me 'no' an' fuck myself onto it, dreaming it was you."

Jensen has to wrap rough fingers around the base of his cock, he's that close to coming. He was not expecting that particular visual. As soon as his mind clears, he knows what he wants.

"Where is it?"

"Huh?" Jared says intelligently. He's already started to sweat and their bodies are sticking together, slicking the way for their mindless movements.

"Go get it. Wanna see you use it." Jensen demands. Jared's eyelids flutter like he can't help himself, and he thrusts once, twice against Jensen before coming in hot, shaking streaks across Jensen's abdomen. He collapses against Jensen and Jensen sucks his own finger into his mouth, moves it to Jared's still-twitching hole and pushes the tip gently inside. Jared jerks like he's been shot, his hands clenching against Jensen's sides. Jensen pushes his finger deeper, revels in the silky hot feel of Jared. "Mm, wanna see you fuck yourself open for me, huh? Can you do that for me?"

"Fuck, yes. Jesus, Jen." Jared rasps, trembles as Jensen plays with his hole. When Jensen finally lets go, Jared leaps off the bed and heads for his closet. He comes back with condoms, lube, and a purple dildo, long and obscene in his fist.

Jensen rolls to his knees, gets off the bed and goes to sit in Jared's desk chair, sprawls languidly and watches Jared's eyes go to his still-hard cock. He strokes himself lazily, enjoying the way Jared's cheeks flush, before he says, "Get on the bed."

Jared quickly complies, bouncing across the mattress in his enthusiasm before letting his thighs fall apart. His eyes are burning into Jensen. Jensen swallows hard, grits, "Come on, lube yourself up. Start with one finger."

Jared doesn't look away once. His eyelids flutter on two fingers, close momentarily for three, but as he scissors his fingers, holding himself wide for Jensen's gaze, his eyes never stray from Jensen's face. Jensen feels like he's going to explode, he's been so hard for so long. He's constantly squeezing the base of his cock trying to stave off orgasm. He's not sure how he's going to fuck Jared without coming on the first stroke, much less make it last and make it good.

Jared's starting to get hard again, and there's a greasy shine from the lube slicked around his hole, glossing his fingers as he slides them in and out, reaches to tease his prostate. There's a sex flush working its way down his chest and belly and his spread thighs are quivering from the effort, his hips moving in jerky little thrusts, fucking himself down onto his fingers.

"God, now? Now, Jen?" Jared gasps suddenly, free hand fumbling for the dildo.

"Not yet," Jensen murmurs. God, Jared's so beautiful like this, open and vulnerable but at the same time the picture of masculine beauty, triceps flexing, abs bulging as he works his body down again and again.

"Please," Jared moans, begging already. His head's fallen back and the long line of his throat is making Jensen's mouth water.

"Just a little longer."

Jensen's sweating, leaning forward in his chair and staring at Jared. Jared's writhing, oblivious to everything except his overwhelming need. His fingers are working faster and faster, his back arching higher as he tries to hit that perfect spot over and over again. "Don't come," Jensen says, and Jared freezes, every muscle visibly locking as he trembles on the edge of orgasm, fighting not to fall over.

Jensen can't stay still; he needs to be closer to Jared. He crawls onto the edge of the bed and settles between Jared's legs, holding himself far enough back that Jared still has room to work. He lays a hand on Jared's calf, revels in the small muscle spasm that follows his fingers.

"Now. Do it," He breathes, and Jared squirts lube over the dildo, spreads it messily over the shaft before gently pulling his fingers from his hole, using them to hold himself open as he slides the dildo gradually inside, working it deeper with small shudders of his hips. Jensen stares, mesmerized.

"Jared," He groans as Jared starts slowly to fuck himself, his ass clenching at the purple plastic as he moves it in and out. "Fuck, you're so fucking hot."

Jared manages to open his mouth but all that comes out is a soft, drawn out, "Oh…" as his eyes roll back. He's sweating, his skin glistening, and Jensen wants to lean forward and taste him, roll the salt of Jared around his tongue and swallow it for safekeeping. Jensen allows himself one touch, tweaking Jared's nipple and running his hand down his abdomen to his belly button, splaying his palm flat over Jared's abs. Jared mewls quietly, pushing up into Jensen's touch and down onto the dildo. He raises his head and looks at Jensen with hazy eyes.

"M'sorry, Jen. For leaving. Everything," he says, voice dripping with heat and sex. Jensen feels something break loose inside of him, something bright and shiny. He believes Jared, more than he's ever believed anybody. Jensen leans forward, puts his mouth on Jared's inner thigh. Jared's glistening fist works mere inches from Jensen's face, joints flexing as he pushes, pushes, pushes. Jensen can't take it anymore.

"I can't – I gotta get in you, baby," Jensen moans, reaching blindly for a condom.

"Yeah, yeah," Jared pants, working the dildo faster as he watches Jensen roll the condom down his painfully hard cock. Jensen covers himself sloppily with lube, too far gone to do a clean job of it, before his wraps his hand around Jared's and helps him ease the dildo from his ass. Jared exhales through clenched teeth as the exaggerated head pops out, then he tosses it to the side and wraps his hands around Jensen's hips, pulling him forward eagerly. Jensen grabs one of Jared's legs and tosses it up over his shoulder, sweat making them slide together. Jared stretches easily, not even paying attention as he positions Jensen's cock.

"Hey," Jensen says, cups Jared's face with his lube-sticky hand. Jared looks up, a question in his eyes. His hair is a wild, tousled mess.

Jensen smiles. "I'm sorry, too. I was… stubborn."

Jared's eyes flicker. "Maybe. Can we talk about this later? Like, when you're done fucking me?" He squeezes Jensen's cock for emphasis and Jensen's hips give a helpless lurch.

"Sure," Jensen wheezes, "Just wanted you to know, before."

"Okay, but after," Jared says, his concentration elsewhere as he helps Jensen push forward.

Jensen shoves slowly into Jared, carefully watching his face – his furrowed brow and the lip clenched between his teeth – for signs of pain. Jared's at once loose and tight around him, giving easily yet clenching smooth as Jensen pushes deeper and deeper. Jared finally lets go of Jensen's cock, wrapping his other leg around Jensen's waist and digging his nails into Jensen's ass as Jensen thrusts as deep as he can, seating himself fully inside.

"Yesss…" Jared hisses, his head digging into the pillow as he tries to fuck himself on Jensen's cock. Jensen holds himself cautiously still. He can't believe he's doing this, inside Jared _finally_, and he wants to savor the moment: Jared folded sweat-hot and heavy around him, eyes clenched shut, fat cock trapped between their bellies as he squirms down onto Jensen.

"Fuck, Jay, you have no idea," Jensen whispers, presses the words to Jared's neck as he starts to move. Jared's arms are restless, wrapping around Jensen's back, his shoulder, hands clenching at his butt trying to get him to move faster, before wrapping around Jensen's neck as Jared fastens his mouth to Jensen's. They kiss wetly, tongues moving sloppily between them as Jensen fucks Jared steadily, powerfully, jolting Jared's body with each drive.

Finally, Jared tears his mouth away, panting helplessly, "Harder, Jen. I need it harder, fuck. Fuck!"

Jensen gives it to him, rears up and away from Jared's body to give himself more leverage, watches hungrily as Jared's hands splay across his belly, bracing Jared for his thrusts. Jared's cock is heavy and red, bobbing between them, and when Jensen wraps his fist around it Jared comes almost instantly, arching up off the bed with a cry. His body spasms around Jensen and Jensen can't help but follow, falling forward onto Jared's chest and panting his pleasure in choked breaths against Jared's shoulder.

Jared goes limp beneath Jensen. Jensen tries not to pass out, enjoying the occasional aftershock from where their bodies are still joined. If he concentrates he can feel Jared's heartbeat, pounding out a frantic blood rhythm around his softening cock.

After a while, Jared pushes at Jensen's chest, muttering softly. Jensen pulls slowly out and rolls to the side, lolling contentedly on Jared's bed. Jared rolls onto his side and Jensen can feel him staring.

"Hnh?" He says. Jared laughs quietly.

"Got somethin' to tell me?"

"God, you can still think after that?"

Jared buries his face against Jensen's shoulder, nipping gently at the knob of bone. "You'd be surprised."

Jensen turns to face Jared, traces a finger over a nipple and smirks when Jared shudders, slaps his hand away.

"It's just I think I need to apologize, too. You were essentially straight, right? And suddenly you're getting a big, gay blow job? I think I'd've freaked, too."

"So, we're both sorry."

"Yeah, something like that."

They're silent for a minute, then Jared says, "Can we pretend that this last month didn't happen? And that we just went straight to the magnificently awesome fucking?"

Jensen laughs, curls towards Jared, "Anything for you, baby."

Jared strokes a palm down Jensen's arm, wraps his fingers around Jensen's. "That's what I like to hear."

Later, Jared blows Jensen in the shower, and when Jensen goes downstairs to get a soda still wrapped in a towel and hair dripping wet, he nearly has a heart attack when Sherri comes around the corner and asks him how he's liking school. Jensen stammers out a reply before he flees back upstairs at warp speed, forgetting his soda.

Jared cackles with laughter when Jensen tells him and then pulls Jensen onto his lap and kisses his nose.

"She'll just have to get used to seeing you half-naked around here."

"That's creepy!" Jensen yelps, and Jared deftly undoes Jensen's towel, whipping his ass smartly when Jensen leaps away.

:::

When Jensen gets home that night – _late_ that night, Jared had insisted on walking him out to his car and that had degenerated into a makeout session and _that_ had turned into frantic handjobs in the backseat, mouths crushed desperately together – Chris raises an eyebrow and says, "Goddamn. Hope you used protection," before checking his watch and adding, "_Every_ time, you slut."

"It's none of your business," Jensen sniffs.

"Okay," Chris grins, "But I reserve ass-kicking rights if anything ever goes wrong."

Jensen looks dreamily out the window. "I wouldn't count on it."

Chris pretends to throw up. Jensen rolls his eyes.

"You're just jealous."

"Yeah, sure I am, Jenny." Chris snorts.

"He's got an enormous cock," Jensen sing-songs as he goes down the hall to their office. He smiles to himself as Chris swears loudly.

Jensen settles down in front of the computer and brings up his e-mail. He's got one from one of his professors at UWM detailing a paper that she assigned today and one from Jared with a subject line that reads simply: &lt;3

Things are looking up, he decides.

END

**Author's Note:**

> (All names listed are LJ user names, read the story on LJ [HERE](http://jonny-vrm.livejournal.com/7749.html).)
> 
> So let me tell you all a little secret: while writing this fic I discovered that, hey, writing so much Sam'n'Dean has _broken my RPS bone_. It's more of a floppy tendon, now. Or maybe a goiter, haha. Anyway, I'm letting you all know this because you have to realize how much effort was put into it by estei who some of you may recognize and who definitely saved my bacon (Hahah, I got the feeling that we saved each other's mutual bacon by getting those greasy, bacon-y, creative juices flowing) and by my beta, hyperactivegirl (Who is new to the fandom but who is writing awesome fics that you should probably go check out).
> 
> Thank you estei, for tolerating my crack-filled e-mails, my moaning about my cliché Jared with his "indicative-of-a-probably-enormous-peen hands," and my sending you this fic for a final opinion. You helped me lay out the groundwork for where I wanted to go with this and you continually made me feel like "it doesn't suck, keep _going_, you idiot!" You're awesome and you aren't a crazy stalker and hey, I appreciate that. ♥
> 
> Thank you Erin, for reading my fic and not laughing in my face even though you were sitting right next to me. I appreciate that you at least turned the other way (joke!) and I love you more and more every time you send me crazy e-mails. Say hi to the Daniels for me and you know exactly where your shout-outs are hidden in this fic. ♥
> 
> And thank you to everyone who took the time to read this.
> 
> ♥


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